Rent My Pussy
by soulpicnic
Summary: Lonely? Call 1-800-BSPUSSY.
1. Chapter 1

I flipped that cheap, business card sized advertisement over and over again with my free hand. The thumb of my other one had been hovering the call button on my phone for the last 10 minutes. Should I? Or shouldn't I?

I sighed. Why was it so hard for me, a mature (enough) woman, to make this kind of decision for myself? I didn't know. I mean, I was on vacation, for fuck's sake. And the intention of this vacation was to let myself be… _free_ and open and all that shit my best friend Quinn wanted me to be.

* * *

_"Look, Santana," she sat me down a week ago. "I really hate seeing you like this. You need to loosen up. I know why you're drowning yourself with work, and I want you to stop. Mourn another way," a pause. "Feel."_

_I snapped, of course, because that was the only thing I could do at the moment. "Feel what, Quinn? Tell me, feel what? I'm sorry if my way of mourning is not up to your standards but this is how I deal!"_

_"You've spent the last year staying awake, plowing through documents like some corporate zombie, which, you and I both know that that is not you," she took a step forward and I, backward, crossing my arms in defense. "You don't sleep, you don't eat, and don't think I can't tell you've dropped a dress size, Santana."_

_"Yeah, well," I rolled my eyes. "Beauty is pain, princess."_

_"I think you emphasized too much on the pain part, Santana," she said softly, genuinely and full of concern that it was becoming really hard for me to keep my tears at bay. I swayed a bit because a part of me really wanted to crumble down and just be vulnerable for once._

_But then of course she had to open her big, yet undoubtedly very pretty, mouth again._

_"I mean it's not like Nicole's dead or something," she flailed her arms up in the air — apparently frustrated with my stubbornness. "She wasn't even a good girlfriend to you, Santana!"_

_"Don't you dare! We were perfectly fine!"_

_"Oh yeah?" Quinn challenged me and took another step forward._

_I took one as well. "Yeah!"_

_"Then why did you spend more than half of your relationship coming home crying? Why do you insist on protecting her when she was the one who cheated on you? I can count, with just my left hand, the number of times she came to your amateur night singing gigs — oh, hold on, I can actually count that with just one finger! And guess what, I'm giving her the middle one because dammit, Santana, you're my best friend and nobody gets to treat you that way!"_

_There was a long pause before I finally relented and slumped into the couch. I held my face with both my hands — not because I was crying, but because I was frustrated with myself. I knew Quinn was right. In fact, I've always known about it for a long time. I, myself, couldn't figure out why I gave a million chances to Nicole when I knew perfectly well that she didn't deserve them._

_"Listen," Quinn sat down next to me. "Take some days off and come with me to Vegas next week. I'm gonna be busy with business meetings during the first couple of days, but we can have fun once the clock strikes 5 on that third day — plus we get to stay the weekend. We can stay at our condo, and I'm gonna be paying for your plane tickets, too. What do you say?"_

_I huffed in response. Vegas did sound very nice. _

_"Come on, Santana," Quinn nudged my shoulder with hers. "It'll be like old times. You and me, painting the town red? But like... without the literal paint this time." _

_I chuckled. "We did have a lot of fun with that can of red paint."_

_"Jacob was so maaaaad…" she reminisced, and we both laughed at our former highschool's newspaper reporter._

_"Jacob and his stupid car deserved it. He knew he would never get away spreading false rumors about the Captains of the Cheerios."_

_Quinn smirked. "One of those rumors came true, though. You now looove the ladies."_

_I raised an eyebrow. "Quinn, both of those rumors came true. We had sex."_

_"Ah," Quinn nodded with a slight blush on her cheeks. "True that. Now I'm wondering if he had predicted the future. Maybe he used Tarot cards or a crystal ball or something."_

_"Pfft," I snorted. "Yeah, right. The only ball he was rubbing was —"_

_"Aaahh, I do not need to hear the rest of that sentence," Quinn cut me off with a grimace. "So… what do you say? Vegas? Are you in or are you out?"_

* * *

And that, ladies and gents, was how I became stuck in this penthouse, surrounded by these… obscene, yet very appealing _invitations _in my hands. Stupid Quinn had to step out for a business dinner with her company's potential client; but not before she shoved me a pile of these cheap ads for strip clubs and whatnot (okay, fine… hookers).

You know how these cards riddled the streets of Vegas, right? Not only that, but also the annoyingly loud noise of fingernails flicking them? Yeah. Quinn said she felt guilty for having to bail out of our dinner plans tonight, so she walked up to every single greasy person on every single intersection and asked for everyone of them to hand her a card — for me.

She added that I should go out there and "experience" Vegas to the fullest.

_"Pick a card, any card,"_ she said. _"Get laid."_

(I think she forgot that "experiencing" Vegas to the fullest did not have to mean catching STDs.)

…

Maybe she was right, though. I mean, I hadn't gotten any lady action since… Well, let's just say I had been making Energizer a very happy company lately. So it's understandable if I was a little bit… frustrated, right?

I wish I could tell you that I wasn't the slightest intrigued by the lovely gesture — or by the lovely ladies grazing the front side of these cards, but I was. But I felt guilty about it. Also slightly disgusted at myself. And I think that was why I ended up picking the weirdest, most absurd card design there was.

For the nth time in the past hour I took another glance at the piece of cardstock. This time I _really_ looked at it.

(Like how I _really_ looked at it a million times before.

It said "Rent My Pussy".

Well, that's_ one_ way to get my attention. I had to applaud that.

The image on that particular card is sheer genius, though. A pair of cat's eyes on one side, and a pair of a woman's eyes on the other. Why genius? Because this woman's eyes are shaped like those of a cat. Y'know, like, really sharp with the outer corners pulled up? Not to mention they were the prettiest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. They infused the right amount of mystery to the message. And exactly what was the message? Well, I was about to find out from 1-800-BSPUSSY.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered the ring and I couldn't help but wonder if she was the owner of those magnificent eyes. "Hello? Anybody there?"

"Oh —" shit. Damn those eyes. "Hi, yeah. Hi."

There was a giggle on the other line. Whether or not it was intentionally meant to seduce, it was working. "You've said that already."

"Oh, haha. Yeah, I did," I slapped my forehead for being a dork.

There was a bit of a pause before she spoke again. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I'm uh… I — I saw your card and, uh," oh, fuck it. "I want rent your pussy."

"Oh, okay," the woman said cheerfully. But then the air changed. She suddenly got all serious with her tone of voice. "Just so you know, I'm going to have to do some inspections before we continue with this."

"Um," I gulped. "Inspection?"

"Yeah, you know… An interview? We meet, talk for a bit, and then I'll decide what kind of pussy you need. Or the kind of pussy you want, maybe."

I gulped again. There was something about the way she said 'pussy' — or maybe the number of times she said it — that made me blush. That, and because the implication of her being the 'pimp' was kind of hot.

Power. I like power.

"Hello? You there?"

"Hey, yeah, I'm here. Um… OK, let's meet," I told her, feeling bold, but nervous at the same time. "Where and when?"

"Well, first of all, do you mind if I asked you some preliminary questions?

"Um," I hesitated. Do I really want to answer those questions? But, "You know what? Go ahead."

"Cool! Okay," she cleared her throat. "Number one. Do you live in Vegas or just visiting?"

"Just visiting. I'm here for a week."

"Number two. Are you staying at a hotel or your own place, or what?"

"I'm staying at a friend's place," I told her. "But it's practically mine, too. We're kinda like sisters, my friend and I."

"That's nice. Wish I had a sister…" she trailed off. It wasn't until I cleared my throat that she spoke again. "Uh, okay that's it. Since you're planning to use the service at your place, I'm going to need to check it out."

"What? Why?"

"I know it sounds weird, but… I want to make sure it's safe? I mean, no offense, but some people tend to be secretly abusive, and everything. I just don't want anything bad to happen. If you want, you can even have your friend present when I'm there. I promise I'm not a bad person."

Yeah, not a bad person — just a pimp. And no, I really didn't want Quinn to be there when I'm being interviewed by one. "No, that won't be necessary. You can come by. When?"

"Are you free tonight? The sooner, the better for you, right?"

"Uh," that got me. Was it really better for me? "I guess so?"

"Great! I can swing by around 6 PM?"

I looked at the clock. It was still 2 hours until 6 PM, I figured I had a lot of time to get ready. "Six sounds great. Do you know the Ogden?"

"Do _I _know the Ogden? Seriously?"

I scrunched my eyebrows. "What? What's wrong with my question?"

"I friggin' live there."

"You're kidding," my eyes widened. There was a pimp living in the building and I didn't know about it, how? Also — what? I'm pretty sure human trafficking wasn't allowed here.

"No, I'm not. I'm on the 8th floor. What about you? Where should I go find you?"

"I'm, uh… at the very top. I'll call the concierge and let them know you're coming upstairs. I just need your name." I guess if she lived in the same building as I was, she couldn't be that bad, right? All I needed to do was to cross-check her info with the concierge.

"It's Brittany. Brittany Pierce."

"Great. Just tell the guy you're going up to see Santana Lopez and, assuming everything goes right, he'll let you up."

"Awesome. See you later," she greeted me goodbye. And then she added a very well rehearsed, (with a very sensual voice, I might add), "thanks for calling Rent My Pussy. Hope you're having a purr-fect day."

Well, shit. That last bit sent a shiver down my spine because that. was. hot. Thankfully, I managed to squeak out my goodbye before she hung up.

That night, when I answered the door at 5:59 PM, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. The creature standing in front of me was perfect. Like, perfectly perfect. She was taller than me, which I liked. She was blonde and beautiful and walked with such rhythm that nobody else could hear.

But, the best of all? Those blue eyes. The same blue eyes I saw on the business card were right there in front of me. I couldn't stop staring at them — and they couldn't look away from my boobs. Ha. Score one for me.

Now, you might think this was the beginning of crazy, sex-filled nights.

I thought so, too.

Of course, I was wrong.

(Though I couldn't stop myself from hoping.)

(P.S. I never knew Quinn was allergic to cats.)


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Quinn yelled at me through the sheet of tissue that was covering half her face. "A freaki— AH-CHOO! A freaking cat?!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't know you're allergic to them! You were always fine whenever we go visit Rachel's dads' house," I reasoned, knowing very well it wouldn't help me much.

"That's because I take allergy meds right before we go see them," Quinn hissed. "I didn't want them to— AH-CHOO!— feel bad! Dammit! Stupid fucking cat!"

"Quinn! Sshh...!" I covered the ears of the fur ball that was sitting on my lap. "She can hear you!"

"Oh my God, what the fuck's— AH-CHOO!— gotten into you, Santana?"

Quinn got into a weird rant about how she was tired from work and kissing some old men's butts (but not literally, thank God), how the restaurant she went to was run by some health conscious Nazi and served fake bacon instead of the real thing, and how she was so disappointed in me because... well, because when she told me to get laid, she didn't mean by a fluffy feline on my lap.

"Trust me, Quinn," I handed her the tissue box as a symbol of truce. "I didn't either. I fully intended to get some lady action from an actual lady. Look," I held up the cat facing me. "She has tits. It's a female. But yeah, not the right species."

Quinn rolled her eyes and harshly grabbed the tissue box from my hands. "Then what the fuck happened?"

I huffed. "Would you believe me if I told you I called a number on one of those cards you got from the streets?"

Quinn blew her nose and shook her head. "No. Not really."

"Well, believe it," I shrugged. Then when Quinn gave me a don't-fuck-with-me-Santana look that was accompanied by her signature eyebrow raise, I pointed at the coffee table. "Look at that card right there. The one with the pretty blue eyes."

My blonde best friend did what I asked her to do and picked up the card. "Oh wow," she said, looking up briefly to meet my eyes. "Rent My Pussy? Hot."

"I know," I sighed. "I couldn't look away the first time I saw them. And that was why I called the number on the back."

She flipped the card to check out the backside — you know, the one with the cat's eyes?

"1-800-BSPUSSY?"

"Yup," I confirmed. "1-800-BSPUSSY."

"This was the number you called?"

"Yup."

"And this was in the pile of cards I gave you?" She asked again, not really believing her assumption was right. That it was literal 'pussy' instead of—

"So this woman is not—"

"Nope."

"But she's—"

"Yup."

"Damn," she huffed. "Well, was she at least as hot as her eyes?"

The cat on my lap suddenly jumped down to the floor and stretched. Quinn and I both observed her for a second of two and when the cat finally moved to the corner of the room, I answered the question.

"She was... perfect," I sighed. "I'm not even kidding you right now. She was beautiful beyond reason."

"Like how?" Quinn kept on pressing.

"Hmm," I furrowed my eyebrows. "She was... I can't even describe it to you. One minute she's this super cute girl-next-door type, and a hot vixen with really legs that went on for miles the next."

"And yet she's not... y'know... _available_ for rent?"

I nodded even though that sounded so bad. "And yet she's not available for rent."

* * *

_"Hi," the blonde woman greeted me with a pearly white smile and offered her hand for me to shake. "Are you Santana Lopez? I'm Brittany S. Pierce. BSP."_

_"I, uh," I stuttered. How embarrassing. But I managed to give her a little wave, so yay. "Yeah, I'm Santana."_

_She tilted her head to the right and gave me a smile... which looked as flirty as it was sweet. "I think I just met the most beautiful woman in the building — if not the whole world." _

_That caught me off guard a little bit. I mean I knew it was part of her occupation to build me up, make me blush and uh... tickled pink (I can't believe I just said that), but I didn't expect her to tell me I was beautiful. 'Hot', maybe, or 'sexy' just like every other pervert passing down the street, but certainly not 'beautiful'. _

_I cleared my throat and stepped aside to give her some moving room. "Come in. Sorry it's a bit of a mess. We haven't had time to unpack."_

_"Thanks," she gave me that smile again. "And believe me, my place is way messier. I mean, what can you do, right, when you have 13 girls living together?" _

_I felt like my eyes were about to jump out of their sockets. "Thirteen?!" Fuck me. She was really running a brothel!_

_"Yeah, I mean, I asked the owner of the building if he could set me up with 2 adjoining apartments with a connecting door, but even that doesn't really help with the mess. It helps with the space for sure, but not with the mess."_

_"Yeah," I nodded, pretending I could understand her problematic living situation. "I bet."_

_"But we're lucky not everybody's always there at once. There's always a couple of them out for sleepovers," she used her fingers to make giant air quotes at the end of the sentence and I was super intrigued. "Sometimes even for the same client. Some of them really like a party. They really enjoy playing with each other — if you know what I mean."_

_"Wow," I breathed out. "Yeah, I know what you mean," I agreed. Only because I really didn't have a comeback for that tidbit. It had just occurred to me that Brittany was like... the real deal, yo. She ran dis mutha and stuff._

_Thinking about her entrepreneurial efforts suddenly had me hot and bothered. I kept regretting the fact that she was only the middleman in her business. In fact, I was in the middle of unconsciously admiring her body up and down when I finally heard her calling my name. When I looked up to her face, she had this sexy smirk on her face, like she knew what I was thinking about — which of course involved her, myself, and various less-than-innocent methods of lady fornication._

_(In my defense, she really should learn how to, um.. properly button her blouse. That space between her breasts was pure torture and a blessing at once!)_

_"Oh!" I mentally slapped myself. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Sit, please," I motioned to the sofa. She walked over to it and plopped herself down. She playfully bounced to test the cushions, and boy did I want to bounce with her — if you know what I mean._

_"This couch is waaay more comfortable than mine! Did you have the cushion altered or something? It's just softer and you can really do stuff on it. I mean, I should know. The girls — and me — we like to mess around sometimes. And most of the time we end up curling up together on the sofa until morning," she said with a chuckle while my dirty mind and I played tag with each other. Right then, my dirty mind was the one chasing me around._

_"No, uh, we didn't do anything with the couch," I nervously replied as I sat myself in the loveseat right across the table. "Would you like something to drink? We have soda, water... some wine, maybe?"_

_She shook her head and smiled. "It's alright. I mean I just ate you and came." _

_My eyes widened. If I had been drinking, this surely would've turned into one of those choking scenes from a movie. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" _

_Brittany looked at me confused. "I said I just ate before I came to see you. Why? What's wrong?"_

_I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Nothing," I told her as casually as possible. "I thought you said something else."_

* * *

"Wow, oh my God," Quinn laughed like a maniac. "She was that hot, huh? You were totally off your game! Not to mention delusional!"

"Ugh," I let my head rest on the back of the couch. "Fuck that. I felt like I was back in college. Remember that first party we went to?"

"Ahh, I remember," Quinn nodded along. "The one where you tried, unsuccessfully, to woo some redhead. That was so funny. You were using all those stupid pickup lines that you learned from Puckerman. The guy whom you had always referred to as Sir Brainless Balls. I mean, that alone should've prevented you from asking those girls whether or not they have a screwdriver with them.

"Hey! I had just got out of the closet, and didn't know how to act around girls," I crossed my arms and frowned. "All through high school guys followed me around and I didn't have to work for a date. But then I had to try and get other girls' numbers? What was I supposed to do?"

"What you were supposed to do was listen to what Puck had to say," Quinn paused. "And then do _exactly_ the opposite."

I huffed. I hated it when she was right. And she fucking loved that I hated it.

"I love it when you have that look on your face," Quinn gave me a smirk. Bitch.

"Whatever. Do you wanna listen to the whole story or not?" I rolled my eyes and tried to divert the conversation. I knew that there was no way she could've said no to whatever else I had to tell her. Besides, she was the one who wanted me to stop pining over my stupid ex-girlfriend.

"Fine, fine," she chuckled. "Tell me all about it. Tell me more about you embarrassed yourself in front of Miss Brittany Hotter-Than-Hot Pierce."

I gave Quinn my best glare and secretly hoped her allergies would attack her again. Then, just like magic, she sneezed four times in a row. I had to bite my tongue and not tell her that, technically, she just died four times.

How did I know that?

BSP, of course. Apparently, aside from being (not) a pimp, she was also well versed in random knowledge about super random things like... the fact that your heart stops whenever you sneeze (thus, Quinn dying four times), or the fact that there are 21 shades of white — and those were just the ones that had names.

* * *

_"...and so I figured Santa Claus must not be getting any action from the Missus," Brittany concluded and I nodded along, slightly jaded by the topic of conversation. Somehow we got into talking about beards and she told me that a man's beard grows faster when he's anticipating sex._

_Interesting. I wonder what we ladies grow faster when we're anticipating sex?_

_If it were any other person who wasn't Quinn (or Nicole, once upon a time), I would've tuned out the minute they started to talk about shit that didn't have anything to do with food or music. But her? This blue eyed angelpimp who was sitting in front of me? I just couldn't do it. I couldn't look away, I couldn't tune her out..._

_And I didn't think I even wanted to._

_"Anyway, I should be asking you questions," Brittany smiled at me._

_"Oh, right... the inspection," I suddenly felt the urge to sit up straight. The professional self in me felt like I was in a job interview or something. "Shoot."_

_She pulled out some kind of a form from her purse and gave me a final smile before talking again. She might've done it just to be polite (I was her potential clientele, remember?), but I took the liberty to think that she cared enough to calm my nerves. "Let's see. Do you have any illness, or transmitted diseases? And how are you feeling right now?"_

_Easy first questions. "Nope, I'm clean. I do my checkups regularly and so far, so good. Right now I'm feeling pretty wonderful, physically."_

_She wrote something on the paper — my guess was a check mark, seeing that it she spent no more than a microsecond doing it — and continued to the next question. "How about anything genetic?"_

_"I can guarantee there's no mental illness in my family. But cancer, maybe," I answered honestly. "One of my aunts died about 1.5 years ago. We were pretty close."_

_"Oh, no," she frowned and lowered her paper and pen. "I'm sorry to hear that. That must've been tough. I hope you had your support system with you when it happened."_

_I smiled a sad smile. Reminded of how Nicole practically abandoned me when I needed her most. "Thanks. It was."_

_"I remember when one of my girls died," she smiled the same smile as mine just seconds prior. "I was so devastated. Some of the younger girls even stopped eating because they missed her so much."_

_"Oh, sorry to hear that as well," I frowned. Then I got worried of catching the diseases from her girls. You never know, right? "Um, sorry to ask but... what was the cause? Was she sick?"_

_"Well, that's why I'm asking you all these questions, actually. She caught something from a client. It was only the flu... but it was the deadly kind," she explained. "But don't worry. I now know better to have them all checked regularly."_

_"Good," I smiled. Then I continued, "I'm sure you take care of your girls very well."_

_"Oh, I do! I have to! I mean, I know people sometimes see me as this money-grabbing bitch that work her girls tirelessly, but I really do take care of them. I love them all."_

_"You love… all... of them?" I asked uncomfortably. This started to sound like the 60s._

_"All of them," she confirmed and nodded. "I don't pick and choose. They chose me."_

_I scrunched my eyebrows. This conversation was totally getting stranger by the minute. Now she sounded like one of those TV evangelists. Except she wasn't wearing a pantsuit, nor a toga. And I bet she shaved her legs regularly. "They chose you, how?"_

"_Well, the girls at my place... they were all... homeless. Strays, if you want to use that word. I took them under my wing and... well, one thing leads to another and I end up going to some stranger's house to ask them questions like these," she paused. "And that leads us to the next question. What kind of pussy do you want?"_

_Whoa. I took a deep breath. Talk about catching me off guard._

_"Uh... what do other people usually go for?" I gulped._

_Brittany shrugged. "They usually have different tastes. Usually they tell me what they're looking for and I would pair them up. So... what is it that you're looking for?"_

_"I — I'm not really sure," I told her truthfully, a little bit ashamed of myself for not being able to make my mind up. "Sorry."_

_"It's completely fine!" she shook her head. "How about I asked you some questions, and you answer? And then we'll go from there?"_

_I agreed to that suggestion, naturally, because... what else could I do?_

_"Okay. Are you active? Like, do you exercise? We gotta find someone who can keep up with you."_

_"Well, I'm not planning on exercising much this week. I'm on vacation, so..."_

_"Fair point," she scribbled something on her paper. "Next question; are you sexually active? And are you loud in bed?"_

_"Um..." I blushed. "Sometimes I can be."_

_"Alright," again, she scribbled on her paper. Then she looked straight into my eyes. Uh-oh. "Do you like them shaven neatly," she winked. "Or au natural and fuzzy?_

_OH MY FUCKING GOD._

_At that moment, I can feel the color red creeping up my face like there were thousands of tiny particles climbing up my cheeks. Nobody had ever asked me that question before and —_

_"Some clients prefer shaved because they dry faster after a bath," she explained further. "Plus they're easier to kiss and nuzzle than the fuzzy ones. Of course, the fuzzy ones are softer to the touch, and they're fun to pet. It's really about preference."_

_I repeat,_

_OH MY FUCKING GOD._

_How could she do this to me? How could she sit there, say those words and ignore my efforts of staying dry down there?_

_"Hey," her voice snapped me out of my daze. "Relax, there's no right or wrong answer. Just tell me what you like and I'll arrange it for you."_

_"Um," What the fuck do I answer to that? I mean mine was always neat, but that was because I like feeling clean. Nicole was… somewhat neat — but not crazy neat. All the other girls I had been with had different levels of… fuzziness… down there._

_I spent a few more seconds to give it a thought, and I took a deep breath to calm myself down before I answered. "I guess… If I had to answer that…"_

_"Which you do," Brittany cut me off and smirked._

_"I, uh, I don't really have a preference," I gulped. "But I think I'd appreciate something that's not too… fuzzy."_

_"Can you define it a little bit more?"_

_"Um…" I played with my collar. It suddenly got very hot in this penthouse._

_"Like, in a scale of Kermit to Herry Monster, how fuzzy?"_

_My eyes widened and my jaw dropped because a) Brittany just referenced Sesame Street in a conversation about vaginas, and b) BRITANY JUST REFERENCED SESAME STREET IN A CONVERSATION ABOUT VAGINAS!_

_"Um… maybe…" I grimaced, feeling a little bit uncomfortable about using what basically constructed my childhood to represent furry hoo-hahs. "I guess… Snuffy? Definitely not Oscar the grouch, though."_

_"Got it," she said. There was this playful glint in her eyes that made me think she was teasing me with that question. Well, either that, or she was really happy with my answer. I narrowed my eyes at her, but she just shot me a big grin and continued on with yet another question._

_"Next one. Are you a talker or more of a quiet type?"_

_"Hmm… that's a tough one. I think I'm kind of in the middle."_

_Brittany just nodded and jotted something down on her sheet of paper._

_"Now, the most important question... do you cuddle?"_

_I had to chuckle about that. "That's your most important question? If I cuddled?"_

_She laughed with me and I realized that I had been missing that sound all of my life. It was funny to me because… how could you even miss something that was never there in the first place?_

_When our laughter died down, she gave me yet another one of her beautiful smile (those blue eyes just twinkled, I swear!) and explained slowly. Seriously. "It's important because some of the girls have... well, not really hostile personalities, but just... they refused to be held a long time. Usually it's because of their past experiences. You have to remember that a lot of them didn't have much luck with their living conditions and some of them were wrongly manhandled."_

_"Oh, I see," I nodded. That made sense._

_"Meanwhile, the rest of them really know when to stand by your side. When you need to just be... warm at night. They're super intuitive. They're a bunch of super cuddlers, and they're soft — like me," she winked again. Wait... did she just flirt with me?_

_"Oh, in that case," I tried to weigh my option, but I couldn't decide whether or not I would like to be cuddled for the rest of the week. "You know what... I don't know. I don't usually cuddle but I wanna say I'd like the option. But... I'm not really sure."_

_Brittany bopped her head up and down, and bit her bottom lip — and may I say, she looked mighty cute doing it._

_"Okay, then... let's changed the question," this time there was an air of confidence and lucidity in her voice. She looked straight into my eyes, as if she was trying to read something in them. "How lonely are you?"_

_I crossed my arms defensively. I was kind of offended. "Who said I'm lonely?"_

_Brittany shifted from her previous position that now she was sitting right on the edge of the couch. "Santana," she called my name softly and smiled at me. For some reason, I ended up dropping my arms to my side. I didn't want her to feel like I was being hostile to her. "It's okay to admit that you're lonely. Being lonely is good sometimes. Being lonely helps you realize what you really want."_

_I blinked. Once. Twice. How could she be this smart? And what was that pang I felt in my heart?_

_I sighed and looked down. I wrung my fingers out of a nervous habit. Memories and heartaches from being cheated on and abandoned came rushing and crashing into me all at once. I couldn't even answer her question directly._

_So I shrugged._

_I just _shrugged.

_Without taking my eyes off my twisty fingers I asked her — no, I begged her to stop. "Are you done with your questions?"_

_I know, right? How dramatic of me._

_But I happened to think her hug was even more dramatic. At least, that was definitely not a gesture that I was expecting from someone who was selling some other people's love juices for a living._

_"I'll be right back with a contract and just the right girl for you. You are going to love her," she whispered in my ear while she was still hugging me. Meanwhile, all I could think about was how nice her hair smelled, and how soft her hair was, and how lovely it was to be hugged by someone other than Quinn and my mom._

_There was something that made me want to hug her all the time._

_I wanted to hug her always._

* * *

"And then she came back with your, uh," Quinn tried hard to suppress her laughter. "Pussy?"

I rolled my eyes, but even I couldn't hold back my own laughter. "And then she came back with my pussy," I nodded. "Her name is Charity, by the way. She got ran by a car and left for dead when Brittany found her lying on the street. She likes to cuddle, super soft, but she's not demanding so she wouldn't interrupt my lady sexy times — according to Brittany. So far, we're getting along just fine and she has no diseases."

"Now, did she find that out from experience, or..." Quinn chuckled again. "Oh my God, this is a goldmine. I'm _so_ gonna be telling everybody this story."

"Whatever Quinn," I rolled my eyes yet again. Sometimes I think I need to be teaching a special eyeroll class to less-than-expressive people like my old schoolmate, Stoner Brett. Then again, he was always high all the time that I doubt he had any need to express himself freely. Anyway, "Charity here is also very, very easy to communicate with," I smirked at Quinn. I loved her but the blonde PR had been so annoying tonight that she deserved a little terror. "Charity," I turned to the cat and she immediately walked over to me.

"Santana?" Quinn observed my antics carefully. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, anticipating my next move.

I gave Quinn one last look, bent over, petted Charity's back and whispered into her ears. "See the lady? That's Quinn. Go jump on Quinn's lap!"

And for a whole five minutes I happily tortured myself with laughter from seeing Quinn running around the penthouse, getting away from a sweet fluffy cat called Charity — who followed her around relentlessly.

That night, as I was falling asleep, Charity climbed up my bed and nudged my wrist with her nose. I obliged and let her sneak between my arm and the mattress.

"I have to return you tomorrow, Char. Quinn could die if you stayed," I petted her soft fur and she purred. "Well, okay, maybe not die per se. But she's definitely gonna need some medical attention and ain't nobody got time for that."

Charity meowed and nuzzled me with her head. It was like she was asking me to give her a second chance.

"Aw, don't be sad," I cooed. "Nobody's mad at you. Not even Quinn. Think of it as your way of helping me see Brittany one more time, okay? How does that sound?"

The cat suddenly stopped its movement and glared at me. Guess someone was a bit protective of her master. It was cute, but it was also intimidating. I knew Charity still had her claws. Trimmed claws, but they could still damage my well-maintained skin (I'm just keepin' it real, people).

I raised both my arms. "I swear to you I have no bad intentions. Look, if she didn't want it too, she wouldn't have said what she did!"

* * *

_"This is Charity. She's one of my two original cats," Brittany put the white and black cat on my lap when she came back to the penthouse. She was all smiley and stuff while I... I was still in shock because I had just learned that all this time she was talking about... well... actual pussycats._

_The walking, meowing, shitting kind._

_"I don't usually rent her out to anyone, but... you're kind of a special case," the blonde gave me a smile and explained. "Charity and Lord Tubbington got me through a rough time once, so I'm hoping she'll get you through whatever it is you're going through. I would've lend you LT, but he's on probation for turning on the smoke alarm with his cigars."_

_"...Okay," I tentatively put my hand over Charity's back and started awkwardly stroking her soft fur. I was surprised at how effective the action was to me. Instantly, I felt a surge of affection running through my whole body and I felt like baby-talking the cat. Fortunately, I was still sane enough to stop myself from doing it in front of her owner._

_After laying down the basic rules and informing me about Charity's characteristics and habits, Brittany briefly walked me through the contract. Apparently I didn't have to pay her anything. She told me she wasn't doing it for the money._

_I sure hope she had some other business on the side._

_(I sure hope she wasn't really running a brothel on the side.)_

_"You'll need to sign here and here, and your initials here," Brittany pointed at several empty spaces within the short contract she had put on the coffee table. I read through it again, made sure that everything was correct, and signed at the dotted lines just like how she instructed me._

_"Great," Brittany took the carbon copy, folded it and placed it in her back pocket. "Alright then, I'll leave you guys to it," she stood up and started walking to the door. I followed behind her still carrying Charity in my arms. The woman who ran a business that turned out to be fully legal and, evidently, not selling sex opened the door with her own hand, seeing that I still had mine full. Once it was ajar she turned around to face me. _

_"Santana," she shyly — very adorably — started her sentence. I just wanted to kiss that pink blush adorning her face. "I told you that Charity's gonna help you get through your problems, but... if you think she's incapable of doing so," she paused and covered the left side of my face with her hand. Her thumb caressed my cheek softly. "I wouldn't mind trying."_

I_ was too focused on petting Charity that when my brain finally registered what Brittany had said and done, her lips were already on my cheek. Kissing me a see-you-later and promising me a chance._

* * *

I didn't tell Quinn that last part of the story. Instead, I dialed the concierge and asked him to get us some maximum strength allergy medicine as a symbolic apology, and an effort to end the conversation.

I didn't know why I chose to do that, really. I think a part of me just didn't want Quinn to have the satisfaction of knowing that, for once, she (unknowingly and unintentionally) did a good thing. The other part of me, though… I think it wanted to keep and savor everything _Brittany_ to myself a little while longer. I didn't want to share her with anybody else. Yet.

One thing's for sure, though. Calling that 1-800 number was probably the best damn decision I had ever made in my entire life.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_You guuuys.. thanks so much for the reviews, faves and follows! I was planning to finish and post this chapter next week (cause I had to work and all that), but thanks to your kind words I ended up doing it tonight._

_Hope I didn't disappoint! I really didn't expect this many people reading the fic... now I'm feeling all the pressure x)_

_On another note... I'M FRIGGIN' EXCITED HEATHER'S GONNA BE BACK! I'VE MISSED MY BSP!_

_P.S. How did you like my fic cover? That's how I imagined Britt's business card. Those damn pretty eyes!_


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_**

_1. Again, thanks so much for the faves, follows and reviews! Not gonna lie, I fangirled a little bit when I saw familiar names whose fics I've been reading were leaving reviews for mine xD_

_2. I'm sorry for not replying any of the reviews, but I'm braving the winter weather and its efforts to screw my internet connection -_-_

_3. Dialing down the funny a little bit in this chapter. Hope it's still entertaining. :)_

_4. As always, this is unbeta-ed, so... excuse my mistakes, lovely people. _

_5. Oh, aaand... someone commented that Santana & Quinn's interactions aren't terribly interesting and I appreciate that! I never meant to make their dialogues as interesting as Brittana's, but I'll work on that, thank you._

_Okie dokes, hope you guys enjoy. Stay warm and safe!_

* * *

The great thing about having Quinn as my best friend was that she gave me a lot of second chances. In fact, she gave me a lot more than I was willing to give myself.

For example… Back in high school, she got pregnant and, even though I managed to keep my mouth shut for as long as I needed, I screwed her up by not being a good best friend to her. Pressured by society — and by society, I meant my uber-Catholic, uber-popular surgeon of a doctor and his slew of conservative minded patients — I avoided her as much as I could. I didn't reply to her texts, didn't answer her calls... I even started waking up earlier and walked to school before she could pick me up with her car.

(Which then resulted in my dad buying me a car. But that's another story for later.)

That didn't mean I was sleeping well at nights. A part of my teenage, emo self felt like my best friend had betrayed me. After all, it was my boyfriend who impregnated her. Yup, the one and only: Noah Puckerman. Now you know why I called him Sir Brainless Balls.

The other part of me, however, couldn't care less about it. Puck didn't matter to me as much. He was just a warm body who was there for what else, but status. I might've been one of the captains of the cheerleader squad, but it was an unspoken (and as I grew older I realized that it was also illogical and completely shit) rule to have a hot football star by your side. It was like a guarantee for your status.

Anyway. I was angry. Then, somewhere along the way I realized that I was actually angry with myself.

I was angry with myself because had I been paying enough attention, I would've realized that the only reason Puck was my boyfriend (aside from my banging body and high school status of course) was that so he could be close to Quinn. Had I been paying enough attention to realize that Quinn's home life was breaking into pieces, she wouldn't have been drunk and stupidly let Puck take advantage of her. Had I been paying enough attention, Quinn wouldn't have been kicked out of her house with her baby bump by her own cheating, asshole father.

It took me until the night Quinn got into labor that I finally came to my senses. I had to learn from Puck — my ex-boyfriend and Quinn's baby daddy — that she was giving up her baby and there was nothing he could do to change her mind. For a minute I was relieved because hey, in the end Puck came back to me and I could still retain my high school royalty status. But when he tried to have sex with me just to make himself feel better, I started yelling at him in Spanish because I started thinking how fucked up it was of him to leave Quinn alone.

Quinn. Alone. Without her baby, without her parents, without her baby daddy, and most importantly, without her best friend.

So I drove as fast as I could to the hospital (after kicking Puck in the balls. D'uh.) and snuck into Quinn's room.

I remember the hospital lights being so bright that she looked so fragile, so small and so different than the strong and capable captain of the Cheerios. I walked over to her bed and held her hand. Even when she was sleeping, she had to know that she wasn't alone and that I was sorry.

The second she opened her eyes (which was a couple of hours after that) she started crying. _We_ started crying. But we were both glad that she wasn't crying alone.

I know, I know. That sounded so… girly and mushy and all that. But seeing her sick and stuffed up from the cat hair allergies made me think of all those things. She looked almost the same as that night in the hospital bed. Dark bags under her eyes and pale skin on her face. She must have been sneezing all through the night and it was all my fault.

Well, kind of.

(Hello? 1-800-BSPUSSY? Ring any bells?)

I texted Brittany earlier to her private phone number that was written on the contract. I was going to call, but I figured I should text first in case she was still asleep. It was, after all, 6 AM. I told her that I was going to give Charity back to her because Quinn was allergic, and she replied simply:

_"That's a bummer. 808."_

She didn't tell me when to come by, but from the sound of that text, she was willing to take the cat back A.S.A.P.

"Quinn," I shook my best friend gently. She didn't open her eyes, but she sniffed her stuffy nose so that was good enough for me. "I'm gonna return Charity to Brittany, okay? Pancakes in the kitchen. Eat up before you take more meds. And," I checked her clock radio, "you still have a couple of hours before you have to get ready. Your day starts at noon. I'll be back before then to check on you."

Quinn hummed in response and I got out of her room. I had another blonde to go see.

* * *

"I'm sorry your friend is sick," Brittany gave me a sympathetic smile when she opened the door. "You sure you didn't know she was allergic?"

"Yeah," I huffed. "Apparently she always took Benadryl before we go visit our friend's house. They have 3 cats and yet Quinn was always fine. That's why I never knew she was allergic," I shrugged. Then I continued with a new realization. "Oh my God… that's why she always seemed like she was high whenever we were there! All this time I thought she was trying to piss off our friend for some reason. One time she just went on and on about how one of my friend's dads has the most beautiful nostrils she'd ever seen and insisted to take close up pictures with her phone. Like, who does that?"

Brittany chuckled. "You know, I think you should start to pay more attention."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "You and I both."

Then I gave her a smile, she gave me one back, and our eyes locked for a nanosecond before we both looked away. I couldn't help but wish that her reason of awkwardness was the same as mine.

(That I was into her like Rihanna was into posting close up pictures of her own boobs.)

"Um… Do you want me to take her from you right away?" she pointed at the cat I was still holding in my arms.

I looked down at Charity and hesitated. "Is it okay if I held her a while longer?"

"Of course not! Come in!" Brittany stepped aside so I could enter her apartment. She was beaming like a Christmas tree, obviously pleased that I was becoming attached to her cat. Her eyes twinkled and she shot me a grin.

Ugh.

"You are so cute," I said. Out loud. While I was looking at her face.

Fuck me.

"I — I was talking to her," I stuttered and quickly recovered. I bent my neck and pretended to kiss Charity. The poor cat was so surprised she almost clawed my eyes out. That bitch. "Charity's so cute, I don't want to let go."

Brittany moved her head a little bit and side-eyed me. She totally knew I was lying. "Right," she dragged slowly as she lead me to the couch. But then she let go the suspicion and offered me a drink. "I got soda, but it's probably too early for that. So… water? Juice? Coffee, maybe?"

"What are _you_ having? I'll have whatever you have," I told her, not wanting to impose.

"Oh, I'm having juice," she said. Then I saw a flash of… something… on her face and she continued with a tone of voice that I was sure was illegal. "Mm-hmm. I got lots of juice. You can have my juice if you want."

I had to hand it to her. She was a pro at teasing. Right when I was about to squeak out my 'okay', she laughed out loud.

"I'm kidding! Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Sometimes I go overboard with my innuendos and teasing," she put a hand over her stomach as she laughed. Then she calmed her self down and cleared her throat. "Would you like apple, or orange juice?"

I smiled a tight smile. Maybe I was a little bit embarrassed. Maybe I was a little bit pissed off because I was constantly, unknowingly, the butt of her jokes. I didn't know. I was definitely annoyed at something, though. "Apple is fine, thank you."

We spent a few moments in silence. The only sounds heard were the clinks of glasses and the opening and closing of her refrigerator door. She was busy playing a good host and I was… wondering why her apartment was so… cozy and normal.

It didn't take long until she sat back down next to me. I noticed that she had set my beverage on the coffee table in front of us, so she gave her a smile and mouthed her a thank you. Then she smiled back at me and all at once the annoyance I had in me vanished into thin air.

"So… You like Bob?" she asked me about… someone?

"Bob?" I furrowed my eyebrows. Did I really space out that long and missed a whole conversation about this Bob person?

"Yeah, Bob," she gestured with her free hand to the whole room. "It's what I call the apartment. 808. Bob."

"Oh," I chuckled. "That's pretty clever, actually."

She shrugged and moved her head from side to side, biting her bottom lip all the while. "I get a major kick out of telling people that "I'm in Bob" when they ask me where I am," she stuck her tongue out. "Buncha perverts."

I took a small sip of apple juice that I was poured and smiled into my glass. This woman sure had a different brain than mine. I loved it.

"I bet you do," I told her. "You seem to enjoy wordplays… puns and all that."

"Yeah," she nodded. "And I owe you an apology."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "It's okay. I'm kinda over it."

"Oh, not just about earlier!" she set her glass down on the coffee table and shifted her position so that she was facing me. "About everything! I mean, I'm sure you didn't call the number because you were looking to cuddle with cats, right?"

"I, uh…" I blushed. I didn't think we were going to have this talk. But I told her the truth anyway. "Yeah… I didn't. I was actually looking for… y'know…"

"You were looking for actual pussies, I know," she cut me off. Damn, I really hated the way she could say the word so casually. It was so hot and yet I was embarrassed that I kept thinking it was hot. "And I lead you on, making you think you were gonna have a night of awesome, mind-blowing, bed-shaking, neighbor-deafening sex."

"That's… one way to put it," I cleared my throat, still heavily blushing hearing all those words pouring out of her mouth. I was also imagining a night of awesome, mind-blowing, bed-shaking, neighbor-deafening sex with her. Apparently my dirty mind was winning this game of tag like a mofo.

I shook my head quickly in hopes that it would shake off those naughty images I was having. Brittany noticed my movement and took it as my way of telling her that I forgave her and that her antics the other day didn't matter anymore.

Of course that made her want to apologize some more.

"I'm sorry for asking you how fuzzy you like your pussies," she told me. "I totally took that too far. I couldn't help it. You were just too cute when you were flustered and that's why I had that speech about pussies being wet—"

… Aaand I had to stop her right there because for some reason I knew she would be using a lot more of her, um, _super _choice words.

"Brittany," I cut her off and gave her my sweet-as-cotton-candy smile. I don't give it away often, but when I did, I usually really, really needed something to happen. "Really, it's fine. To be honest, I'm kinda glad you showed up."

"You are?"

Seeing Brittany beamed like a little kid who was watching fireworks for the first time, I realized what I had just implied. Naturally, I deflected. But that didn't mean I was going to lie. "Yeah. You brought me Charity and we got along pretty well. I actually enjoyed her company last night."

"Oh," she pursed her lips. And maybe did something with her hair but I was too busy admiring her lips. I heard a hint of disappointment in her voice but, considering she then continued with her regular tone of voice, I was pretty sure it was part of my imagination. "Did you cuddle last night? Did you pet my pussy?" she wiggled her eyebrows playfully and this time I managed to get the humor and chuckled.

"Yes, I petted your pussy," I chuckled. "And yes, we cuddled afterwards." I can play this game too. I hope.

"Score," Brittany winked.

I chuckled again at her and then turned to look at Charity. By that time, the black and white cat was already out of my hands. She was basking in the sunlight right in front of the balcony's glass doors. "She was really comfy and soft. Cuddling her was really therapeutic."

"I know what you mean," Brittany agreed.

I sighed. I really didn't want to let that cat go. "Too bad I can't keep her with me."

"Your friend?" she took another sip of her OJ. "Her allergies are that bad, huh?"

"Actually, it's really not that bad. All she did was sneeze like a million times. She just had to pop some pills and get a good night's sleep," I explained Quinn's situation to her. "I just don't have enough first hand knowledge about allergies and I really don't want to make it worse for her."

Brittany smiled softly at me for that. "You're such a good friend, Santana."

"Pfft…" I blushed and waved my hand at her. "Quinn would've fought you about that. I'm really not."

"Yeah, right. You just put her wellbeing before your own. If I had a sticker book I'd be giving you a gold star right now," she tried to convince me.

"Ah, well… what can I do? She's my best friend, after all," I gave in. It was kind of nice to have someone say nice things about me for once. For sure the people in my office wouldn't have told me that. "Anyway… is there anything in the contract about cancellations or early returns? You know, like rental cars?"

"Hmm," Brittany looked up at the ceiling, showcasing her creamy, soft looking neck that I could just kis—

Damn. I should really stop, shouldn't I?

"I don't think I put a clause for early returns in the contract. Time extensions, yes. But nothing about giving back my cats early. I mean, It's not like I'm not gonna take them back, right?"

"Huh… I guess you're right," I nodded.

"Besides… I have a proposition for you," she put her glass down and changed her sitting position again. She crossed her leg so slowly that had I not known about her habit of teasing people to the max, I would've assumed (hoped) she was coming on to me. "You like Charity, right?"

"Very much," I replied without hesitation. Charity was awesome. Her black and white fur was beautifully maintained. She was just the right amount of clingy and she didn't have the behaviors of a diva. If she had, there was no doubt Charity and I wouldn't have gotten along so well.

"Well, would you like to keep renting her during your whole stay in Vegas?

"Brittany," I sighed. "I really do, but Quinn won't like that. If I brought her back to the apartment, someone's gonna die. Now, it's not gonna be Charity, but I have a feeling it'll be either Quinn from her allergies, or me because I'm pretty sure Quinn's very capable in making a homicide look like an accident."

Brittany laughed at my exaggerated reasons and the butterflies in my stomach started tickling its walls.

"Hear me out. What if you can come visit Charity here, in Bob, whenever you want?" she asked.

"You're being serious?" I asked and she nodded. But like, "how? And I don't want to intrude. After all, we just met. We're practically strangers. Are you sure you want me to wander around your apartment?"

"We're not really strangers," she shrugged. "Well, at least, we won't be anymore. We'll talk and get to know each other," she paused and then raised an eyebrow, looking at me pointedly. "Did you really think I was gonna leave you alone in my apartment with her?"

"Well, not really… But… are you sure? I mean, you must have other things to do other than babysitting me with you cat. I'm—"

"Santana," she cut me off and caught my wrist so I'd stop talking. "I wanna do this for you. There was a reason you called — there's always a reason when people call my number, and that was why I started this business. I wanted to help them. Even if I can't take their problems away completely, I would like to help in some way."

Her explanation got me completely speechless. I wasn't going to lie; my assumptions about her were bad. I had assumed she was just doing it to prank unsuspecting people like me — intentionally making them fluster with all those innuendos and whatnot. I was ashamed to learn that her intentions were noble. I was also feeling ashamed because what do they say about people who make assumptions? That those assumptions are based on themselves.

I still had one question in my mind though. "And you wanted to help them by… renting out your cats?"

"I know it sounds strange, but… like I said, Charity and Lord Tubbington, my other cat, helped me through a lot of stuff. So there must be people like me out there that would like some TLC from fluffy cats."

Her blue eyes seemed so sad. So genuinely heartbroken that I wanted to pull her into my arms and just give her a big, giant hug. But I figured it would've been too weird. She said we weren't going to be strangers anymore, but in reality, I still thought we were. Well, that, and I didn't think hugging her was a good idea considering I was as horny as a unicorn in heat.

I considered asking her about what had happened in her past, but that didn't seem like a stranger's territory to delve either. So I comforted her in another way. "I'm not gonna lie, it does sound a little strange at first. But the more I think about it, the more I think it's genius."

We spent a little more time talking, but when I realized it was almost 11, I had to tell her that I promised to check on Quinn.

Brittany pouted (and oh how adorable was that pout), so I told her that I was game for her so-called proposition. I _would_ be coming to the apartment to play with Charity, and she was going to be there to supervise.

Of course secretly I wanted more than that. I hoped what she said about us talking more and getting to know each other better was not just an empty promise that she was making. But somewhere deep inside, I already knew she was worth believing in.

As I was making my way out, I looked around the apartment. I kept expecting her "girls" to be wandering around the living room, scratching the doors and what not. Brittany herself said that the 13 cats in her apartment caused a lot of mess.

"You're looking for the cats, are you?" she asked me, looking over her shoulder as she walked. She was leading me towards the door.

"How can you tell?"

She chuckled. "It's not hard when you got your head looking left and right. To answer your unspoken question, they're safe in the other apartment."

"Oh right, the connecting doors," I nodded.

"Yup. The owner of the building gave me permission to modify the other room and transformed it into kitty heaven."

"Ah. I see. I just thought they'd be running around, living 24/7 with you," I stated. From the way she talked about them, it sure sounded like they would be.

"Hm," she held the apartment door with her right hand, making sure I was safe from it smacking me right in the face. "They sometimes do. I just don't normally open the door when I'm having a guest."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Well, for starters, for someone who's only been here once, you'd be overwhelmed by 13 cats running around you."

I bopped my head up and down. "That would definitely overwhelm me."

"And then… no offense, but I'm just keeping them safe. I've had some experiences with bad people trying to steal my cats. The cable guy, the deliver guy from that pizza place across the street…"

"Marzano?"

"Yep," she confirmed. "Pizza Marzano. Never will I order from them again."

"That's really messed up," I scrunched my nose. "People really do that?"

"Yeah, apparently they do," she frowned. But, "You can see them next time. I'm not worried about you taking off with one of my cats."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"

"Because, you don't wanna be on my blacklist," she smirked. "You want to see my pussy."

Well, now. I won't fall again for that.

"See, you've used them so much, I'm not gonna fall for any of your innuendos again. I know you're talking about Charity," I said, waving my pointer finger at her playfully. She smirked.

You'd think after our earlier conversation, I would've learned to never assume anything when it comes to Brittany's way of thinking. Apparently I've failed at doing so, because as soon as I confidently said what I had said, Brittany took a step forward and whispered in my ears so deliciously... _delicious_.

Just like that, she walked backwards and closed her door, leaving a very speechless, very stunned me in the hallway with her last question still ringing in my ears.

_"Who said anything about cats?"_


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_**

_1. Always the first point: Thank you so much for the reviews, faves and follows! They mean so much to me, considering I'm just someone who pretends to be a writer!_

_2. Last chapter I scaled down the funny... this chapter I upped the drama. But juuuust a little bit. I like throwing you guys into this new ride I call Brittana. Wait, that sounds messy. What I meant to say was... I like throwing you guys into this Brittana roller coaster. Whew. okay that definitely sounds better.. _

_3. Where's Lord Tubbington? Not in this chapter. :P He'll be there soon._

_4. To everybody whose reviews I couldn't reply via PM, thanks so much for making the time to comment! I appreciate each and every one of them!_

_5. Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays! I hope you're gonna be spending your days with the people you love & the people who love you. Please don't forget to pay your happiness forward and help others in need. It's a cold world out there for people without jackets and food. Also for pussies (ha!) without shelter and food._

_Alright, onward we go!_

* * *

"I just love seeing you interact with Charity," Brittany plopped down next to me on her couch. This was the second day I went to Bob to meet them, and I was proud to say that I wasn't as awkward as before. I was handling Brittany's gift in flirting like a pro. Before, depending on how many times she said 'pussy', I would have ended my night either taking a really cold shower, or ordering new panties from Victoria's Secret. But now, I can actually talk to her.

Like, from our conversations we now know just enough information about ourselves. Nothing super deep though. Just like hobbies (mine: point out incompetence at restaurants, hers: buy children coloring books), skills (mine: bitch out incompetence at restaurants, hers: finish children coloring books), best friends (mine: Quinn, hers: Charity and Lord Tubbington), and favorite dish (mine: sushi and anything seafood, hers: pussies and candy bars. In that order.).

("I'm just being honest!")

Did I mention she was hilarious too? She shared her experiences with past Rent My Pussy clients and we just laughed our asses off the other day. I mean, I knew I shouldn't be laughing at all because, after all, I was once one of them, but her stories were amazing. There should be a reality show about her business and her client. Like a hidden camera kind of thing? Yeah, I'm _so_ gonna make a pitch about it to one of my contacts.

So there you go. Even though a part of me still wishing we had our tongues super close, Brittany proved to be an awesome conversational partner. Never had I clicked so much with a person like this before. Even Quinn had to earn my friendship (or I had to earn hers, whatever). Brittany was just… easy. I couldn't stop talking to her. There was this urge from somewhere inside of me to intellectually bone her.

…

Wow, that sounded so much better in my head.

"She's had issues, to say the least, with some of my friends, but obviously she has no problem with you," Brittany continued.

I looked at the peacefully purring cat in my lap and furrowed my eyebrows. I really couldn't imagine Charity being hostile to anyone. She had been so sweet an cuddly to me. "What kind of issues?"

"Oh, you know," Brittany shrugged. "Cat issues. Insecurities and all that. She almost clawed my friend's eyes because he said she smelled bad and she could've used a bath. And you know how much cats hate baths."

I nodded, looking like I was deep in thought. Then, after a pause, I asked her. "So you knew she could've clawed my eyes out, but you offered her to me nonetheless?"

Brittany carefully took a sip of her hot coffee, and even as her lips were hidden behind the mug, I could tell she was smiling. Amused.

"I knew she wouldn't do anything to you, and you wouldn't do anything to her," she explained, and when I raised an eyebrow she continued. "I had a feeling you guys had something in common."

"Oh?" I was intrigued, so I challenged her. "And what is that?"

"A couple of things, actually," Brittany was quick to answer. "One, both of you had that look in your eyes. The kind of look that says, 'yeah, bitch, come at me,—"

I had to laugh at that because one, she was talking in this adorable ghetto way, and two, she was kind of right. I mean, I'm me. I'm Santana Lopez. Of course I had that look. As for Charity... well, I had to admit I was at the receiving end of that look when we first met, so… I agreed with Brittany completely.

"Okay, that makes sense," I said. "What else?"

"Two," Brittany held two fingers in the air. "You're both go-getters."

I jutted my bottom lip out and did a nod. "What made you say that? We've only known each other for a couple of days. I don't think I've done something that could have you draw that conclusion."

She chuckled and it made her beautiful eyes twinkle. "That's easy. Look, we're probably about the same age. Now, we're still pretty young and any other people would be having trouble getting away from their daily jobs for a sick day, let alone for a full week vacation in Vegas. Look at your friend, Quinn. She's in Vegas and yet… she's working. Which could only mean two things."

"Which are?" I asked.

"One, you're either very successful and hold a high position in the office, or two, you are the boss of a Rent My Pussy type of business — which, I really hope you're not because that would mean we're competitions," she winked.

I pursed my lips into a tight smile, nodded and assessed her reasoning as I sipped my apple juice. She was right.

Brittany fixed her sitting position and folded her legs under her. I really got her curious. "So… are you _not_ a go-getter? Are you _not _either one of my guesses?"

I hummed and agreed. "Yeah, I am a go-getter. I know what I want and once I find it, I _will_ get it," I smiled at her. "That was a really good read, Britt."

"What can I say… I have a gift," she shrugged playfully. "So what do you do?"

"I work in the music industry," I said simply. But her eyes were begging for more, so I complied. "I started from the bottom as a front desk greeter, but now I'm one of the producers in my company. I delved in songwriting, but as it turned out, it's not for me. The lyrics I come up with are often… well, I was told they're offensive. Guess I can't help it when I'm brutally honest."

"Come on… They can't be_ that_ offensive! I bet they're still good. Give me an example."

"Let's see," I stroked Charity's back as I recalled old memories. "OH. Okay. This one time I dated a guy who had big ass lips, so I made him a song about how he could probably suck a baby's head off."

"Whoa. Hard core," Brittany deadpanned.

I chuckled because her straight face was perfect. She really had a knack for that type of comedic relief. "Needless to say that relationship didn't last very long."

"Do they usually last longer than that?" she asked, and she caught me by surprise. She seemed to sense my hesitation to answer, though, because then she tried to retract her question. "You don't have to answer that. Sorry, it's a habit of mine to ask weird questions at random moments."

I shook my head. "It's fine. To answer your question, no, my relationships had never lasted long," I paused, playing with Charity's fur once again before I gave her the final part of my answer. "But I always wanted them to be."

"And why do you think that is?" Brittany asked again.

Of course by now, I was the one curious. The Furry Pussy Pimp (yeah, that's what she told me to call her now) should only be asking these kinds of questions if…

"What are you, a shrink?" I playfully accused and rested my hands on my hips. I also raised one eyebrow just because I could.

Brittany shyly ducked her head down and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, all the while wearing a smile on her face.

_Dear god._

She looked so gorgeous and sweet I could just eat her up!

Ooh… wank—

Stop, Santana! Focus, you cavewoman!

"Something like that," she looked up to meet my eyes and cringed. "I'm actually an animal trainer. This is just something I do on the side for a few months of the year."

"A few months of the year?"

"Yeah. December, February, and June," she told me.

I had to ask, "why only those months?"

"Because those are the months when a lot of people feel the loneliest," she shrugged.

I jutted my bottom lip out and nodded. Clearly Brittany had figured it all out with this business. "So… an animal trainer," I moved on after quite a long pause, but it must've been done as a question so Brittany confirmed it with a nod.

"Wow," I responded.

"Yup. Wow. You can laugh at me now," she half-smiled, obviously defensive about her unusual job. Well, it wasn't really unusual per se. It was just unusual to me. I'd never met an animal trainer before. "I mean it's not like I haven't been laughed at before."

"No, no," I told her quickly, frantically waving my hands in the air. "Totally not something I'd laugh at! I admit it was sort of weird hearing that, but that's because the only animal trainers I know are the ones whose 2D faces I so happened to encounter on Animal Planet. Besides, I really, really think it's a cool job."

The usually outspoken, outwitting blonde looked surprised at my (honest!) reaction.

"You do?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I? You get to work with beautiful creatures that won't talk back when they're told to do something or criticized. They can handle the truth."

Brittany snorted. "Yeah, they won't talk back, but the big guys can still kill you. That's why we had lots of training and education. I majored in psychology, minored in animal psychology. That's a requirement for everybody in our line of work — y'know, to somewhat understand our friends."

"Friends?"

"Patients just sound so… sickly."

"Ah, got it," I nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. "Well, I'm sticking to it. Your job's so cool, also I think you're officially the smartest person I know. Quinn doesn't count cause I used to let her look at my test answers back in high school. She's not really that smart — but don't tell her I told you that."

There was a subtle shade of pink creeping up her creamy neck and chin, and then cheeks, and I couldn't help but admiring the endearing show. Unconsciously, I shifted in my seat and moved an inch (okay, more like five) closer to her.

"Honestly, though, now that I know your job is actually a dangerous one, please be careful," I told her seriously. "Have you ever been bitten?"

"Nope," Brittany shook her head proudly. Then her eyes widened comically as she remembered something else. "But I got clawed once by a tiger. There's a scar on my back. Not a big one, though. Just teeny tiny."

"Holy shit," I cringed again. I can't even handle a papercut, let alone a tiger claw on my back! "How did it happen?"

"Well, you see, the training company I work for, Faunalogy, only takes abandoned animals," she checked with me if I was following. And I was, so I gave her small nods.

I had heard of the company before. In fact, it was famously known for their ethics that a lot of production companies would rather hire them instead of anybody else. A few people I'd worked with had mentioned Faunalogy a number of times, mostly when they were brainstorming music videos, but I'd never done any research about it.

"Sometimes the animals were abused so badly, they develop certain behaviors. A lot of them became super clingy, but others could be really hostile if they felt threatened."

"Wow," I breathed. "No wonder you asked me about the cuddling part."

"Yeah. Faunalogy actually ask those questions — or some version of it — to all of our clients. So not just me to you."

"Even the part about fuzzy pussies?" I asked and winked.

"Even the part about fuzzy pussies," she laughed. "Or fuzzy cocks, if someone's looking for a chicken."

I shuddered and made a face. "Gross."

Brittany laughed louder, and I started to want to make her laugh all the time. Seriously... it was music to my ears, a sight for sore eyes, and all that shit you cheesily say in Hallmark movies.

"Anyway," she continued after calming herself down. "Long story short, they brought in a new tiger that day courtesy of an awfully cruel traveling circus, and I was still a week into my new job. I was trying to pet him but he mistook it as me trying to hit his head. Once I turned my back on him — which you should never do when you're in the vicinity of an abused, supposedly wild, animal — he swung his paw at me."

"Damn, Britt," I cringed. "How bad was it? And what happened to him? Any consequences?"

"No consequences for him," Brittany shook her head. "We all understood that it was then part of his nature to be extra defensive. Besides, I've told you. All I got was a small scar. Nothing to big."

"Can I see it?"

Seriously, my uncontrollable mouth was just asking for trouble. See, most of the time, when I was around Brittany, I didn't have control over my actions. Once, I went to a psychic reading and found out that my spirit animal was the always lustful garden gnome named Graham the Mentally Unstable Gnome of Bedford.

Okay, that might have been one of those Gnome Name Generators instead of a legit psychic, but still… All my life, things I found over the internet had provided me with very good information on the most important aspects. Why shouldn't I trust it, right? I mean, come on. Who did you think was my first teacher on lady sex?

(Internet porn. D'uh.)

Brittany, of course, was always on her toes when it came to teasing me to the point of cutting the tension of my sexual frustration. Naturally, she put on a smirk.

"Why, Ms. Lopez," she purred. "Are you trying to get me naked?"

"N-No! I was just curious, that's all!" Yeaaah, not very subtle, self. For sure Brittany was going to be all Miss Seduction-for-Your-Thoughts again, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.

"Oh," she pouted. "Well, that's kinda disappointing."

In that moment, I was sure Brittany was the kind of girl who got everything she wanted for her birthdays and Christmases. Because that pout? Killer!

I quickly corrected myself to make her feel better. "I— I didn't mean I didn't want you to get naked!"

There were times in my life when I wish I had listened more to what my parents had to say. Most of them were moments when I clearly should've put more thought into what I was about to say.

But this one, here on Brittany's couch, sitting so close to her and petting her (actual, non-metaphorical or whatever you grammar Nazis call it) pussy, was definitely not one of them. How could it be, when this gorgeous, beautiful human being ended up literally taking my breath away by kissing me senseless?

* * *

Nobody really knew this — not even Quinn cause there were certain things about me that I would like to keep to myself — but while other girls my age moved on from their fascination of Barbie once they were a little bit older, I never did.

My dad, the Catholic, wise and seemingly together husband and father, was one of those people in our communities that you look up to. That you go to when you have a domestic problem you need to solve. Every Sunday our pastor would tell the congregation little anecdotes about him and his participation in building a better community. Needless to say, everybody in our small neighborhood of Lima, Ohio, knew him.

Fortunately — or unfortunately, depends on how you see it — not a lot of people knew my dad, the good-looking, uber-popular surgeon who, while living in the same house and giving my mom and I financial security, mentally and emotionally checked out of his family about 4 years after I was born. He was always there for PTA meetings, Christmases and Thanksgivings, but a girl could only handle seeing her daddy kissing another woman in the hospital break room so many times without changing her mind about her childhood hero.

Did my mom know about his affairs? Definitely. Did she know about me knowing it? She does now, but she spent a huge amount of time either not knowing, or pretending to. Did she do anything about it? Well, other than telling her mother about it (who told _his_ mom about it), she pretty much just let things flow. I think she did it to keep me safe and… well, to preserve my image of him.

Which ties me back to my Barbie dolls.

Even when I started high school, I still kept a complete set of a Barbie family in a big enough UPS box under my bed. In it, Barbie, Ken and Skipper lived together in a perfect world where other people just simply don't exist — or at least, they didn't try to steal other people's husbands and/or wives.

Perfect, perfect family.

…

Until I found out from my dear uncle Google that Skipper was actually Barbie's sister and my cardboard box family was actually incestuous, that is.

Imagine my disappointment learning that Barbie didn't name her daughter Skipper because she made her "skip" her period.

Anyway.

The whole thing with my mom and dad hurt my heart a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

Cliché, but I remember thinking, as a child, that it was my fault that my dad strayed. I thought I was the reason he abandoned us and I kept feeling some kind of guilt towards my mom. Of course, she was a great mother and never once did she ever blame me — but I just couldn't help but feel. And that brought me to a problem I now have.

According to Quinn, her extraordinary capability to read people (her words, not mine) had brought her to the conclusion that I had (have, really) this need to please people around me, as well as pretend that I was alright.

Quinn had the worst (best?) enemyship with Nicole. Every time Nicole was around, I swear, the high school HBIC Quinn was back in full force. If she had hunky guys around she would've paid them to pour slushies on Nicole.

(I found out months after I broke up with Nicole that Quinn actually paid some neighborhood kids to egg Nicole's car. I guess that was a close version of slushies.)

They were totally hostile towards one another. There was always a fight going on about the simplest things. Quinn would start most of them because, for example, Nicole had stood me up for an important date for the nth time; but Nicole would always be the one to egg her on, telling Quinn that she should just get laid and get that knot out of her brain — thus, making matters worse. I simply just couldn't figure out anymore who to bitch at: my best friend, or my girlfriend.

I always ended up sacrificing my best friend.

But she was always there the next day to listen to me sob away stories about the awful girlfriend that was Nicole.

When I called her up after I found out Nicole had been screwing some slut she worked with, Quinn was ready with the ice cream and movies. She said she had been anticipating that moment for while, and she wasn't even sorry about it. I hated her for wishing my break up, but it didn't last long because she slowly brought me to my senses.

'You've changed, Santana,' was Quinn's very sentence that really got to me, and she was right. That day I realized that I did change. And I didn't realize it for the longest time, but I had substituted my old self with a person who needed approval from people I didn't need in my life. Like, I needed to be held by people who I knew didn't care about me — which was why I kept Nicole in my life for much too long. I kept her until it was too late for me to comprehend that certain people just don't deserve my awesome self. And love.

So right now, as I half-laid there on the couch being sweet lady handled by Brittany, I was having these scary thoughts in my head, because… because the way she was looking at me was so soft and delicate. She was touching me so… careful… and nobody had ever taken the time to treasure me like that. This was just too much of a bubble of a dream, and if I weren't the one to burst it, someone else would and I just knew it would hurt.

"Where did your mind just go to?" Brittany whispered softly. Her blue eyes looking straight into mine, moving left and right like she was trying to read me. Her hand was stroking my hair like every strand was made of string.

I shakily answered. "I… I can't do this."

Brittany stopped her caressing and slowly sat upright, making a room for me to do the same too.

"This?" she asked for clarification. "This, this, or the whole… this?"

"I… I just—" I took a deep breath. "Brittany, I'm going home in 2 days and you're… you're you and you run this business—"

"On the side," she reminded me.

"Yes, on the side," I cut her off. "And you've been teasing me like crazy, and don't get me wrong, it's not that I didn't like it, it's just…" I trailed off, trying to think of good words to say that wouldn't stink like a word vomit.

"What, Santana?" she pushed gently, and the abominable Yeti inside of me decided to come out and play.

"I'm not just some fuck, okay?" I snapped. "I'm not some slut you can finger and then leave. I know your kind."

"My _kind_?" Brittany asked back. I didn't dare to look into her eyes because I could tell from her tone she was getting upset. Not angry yet, but definitely upset.

"Yeah, your kind! As soon as I leave Vegas, you'd be free to find some other girl to bang. Don't think I don't know your M.O."

"Excuse me? Weren't you the one who was looking for hookers for a one-night stand just a few days ago? And did you really think I was looking to just fuck you? If I wanted to do that I wouldn't be here talking to you at all. All I wanted was to get to know you! "

I did it. I definitely made her angry, and she was fucking scary when she was angry. Maybe it was because I had never seen her fuming like that. The whole 5 days I had known her, they were constantly filled with smiles and laughter, if not inappropriate puns and wordplays.

I regretted my need to push away the wrong kind of people.

I regretted what came out of my mouth after even more.

"Bullshit! You talk a big game about how _sad_ it is to not be wanted," I used my fingers to make exaggerated air quotes, "to be abused and abandoned. The truth is, you don't even know what it's like to be left behind. Well, I _do_! And it fucking hurts! So let's do us both a favor and don't pretend you _know_ what it's like!"

I panted, out of breath after that last spiel.

She was breathing hard too, and I wasn't sure why — until she looked up and I saw her blue eyes rimmed red.

_Shit._

"I'm sor—"

"You know where the door is," she cut me off harshly and picked Charity up from my lap.

She disappeared behind the connecting door and turned the lock (I knew. I heard it click.).

I let my self out and chose to walk up the stairs to the penthouse instead of taking the elevator. I just felt like I needed a longer journey up to my room.

Quinn found me later that night all curled up in my room, crying my eyes out. She mentioned something about meeting a blonde in the lobby who had her 15 cats in their little carriers loaded into a fancy stretch limousine, and I cried louder because... Because I just needed Brittany to give me a second chance.

Quinn didn't say anything about the whole situation, mainly because I had been keeping her in the dark about Brittany. So she just handed me my phone. "Whatever happened, I'm sure you want to fix it," she told me.

And I should've done it. At least try calling Brittany to see if she'd answer. And if she didn't then I should've left her a message.

But I didn't.

I just went to bed and not sleep.

I left Vegas 2 days after that.


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you seriously going into sulk mode again?" asked Quinn. She had been going on and on about me moping around since the day we landed back in LA, and this afternoon in particular, she decided to fill me in about... well, about me. "It's deja vu all over again, Santana. I thought the point of me taking you to Vegas was to get your mopey ass back on track again? I didn't expect you to come back looking like someone ate your barrel of breadsticks."

"Just let it go, Q," I huffed and played with my dinner. "You don't know anything, okay?"

"Seriously? That's your comeback? How the fuck could I know anything, Santana?!" she snapped and banged the table with her hand. I jumped a little, and so did my dinner plate, but I was just too tired to say anything back at the moment. If I had had the energy I would've probably gone all Lima Heights on her.

Then again, she might've slapped me in return or something equally painful. We, as high school best frenemies, got into a lot of fights and let me tell you... all her slaps were genius. Like, she's the Muhammad Ali of slapping.

(She moves like a butterfly, stings like a bitch.)

"How can I help you, when you won't even tell me what went on in Vegas? I mean, you were perfectly happy that morning. You even volunteered to do the dishes — which we both know you never do — and then the next thing I knew you were crying your eyes out! Does it have anything to do with that Pussy rental? With that Brittany chick?"

"No," I said quickly and as nonchalant as I could possibly be.

Quinn searched my face for something and she found it: my lie. Her jaw dropped. "Shit. It's her? Santana, you only knew her for, what? Like 3-4 hours? And already you're in this state of heartbroken?"

"Who said anything about a heartbreak?"

"Oh, I know what a heartbreak looks like," Quinn rested her hands on her hips. "And I definitely know what_ your_ heartbreak looks like."

"Dammit, Quinn. Fucking let it go! I don't need your help," I told her. "If I did I would've asked you for it. Why can't you stay away from my problem, anyway?"

"Because you _never _ask for help until it's too late. And because you're my best friend, and your problems are mine," she told me exasperatedly. "Why can't you understand that? Why is it so hard for you to understand that you are allowed to have someone looking out for you?"

"You're not my mom, Q," I looked up. Frustrated, my inner superbitch Snixx decided to come out and play after all — and yes, I had a lot of spirit animals. Hulk, Graham, Snixx... sometimes Buttercup from the Powerpuff Girls. It was what was wrong with me; I was like Sybil, but like... less popular and even more unwired in the head. And once Snixx got off of her leash, there was no turning back.

"I mean I know you gave up your daughter and shit," I mockingly said before I realized I had crossed the line I promised myself I wouldn't. "But that doesn't mean you can treat everybody like they're your baby, Virgin Mary. Go get yourself immaculately knocked up again or something."

That was probably the longest pause I had ever had during a conversation with Quinn, and until this day, I regretted it. When I looked up to her, her jaws were set and tightened, but Quinn stayed silent to give me one, maybe two seconds to apologize.

I opened my mouth and closed it again several times, but the words never came out of my mouth — which shouldn't have been a surprise to either of us.

So, wordlessly, Quinn retreated into her room, leaving me behind with my pasta that she had cooked for me from scratch.

Shit.

Two fallouts in two weeks. Well done, self.

* * *

The next day, I realized that apparently, everybody around me was noticing my mood. My fellow producers, as well as the artists I worked with kept asking me if I was alright — if I was up for making hit music. My boss even sent the janitor out to get me a basket of mini muffins.

I had to admit it. At first it was nice to have those people asking me those questions. It felt somewhat wonderful to know that a lot of people care about you (or, y'know, care just enough to make small talks with you). But, soon enough, it got old.

I guess I had myself to blame.

I couldn't understand it myself. I mean, Quinn was another story — I've known her practically forever and of course I'd get upset about the situation (and for the record, I completely understood I had brought it upon myself). But Brittany was literally almost a nobody to me. She was just some person who was a part of my life for 4.5 days. Not even that — she was just some person who was a part of my life for twelve hours, 17 minutes and however many seconds, but that was it.

She shouldn't be haunting my heart and mind this much. But that look — that very last look that she gave me during our last exchange — I couldn't shake it out of my mind. I was constantly restless thinking about it and I kept thinking I should go apologize because... well, because obviously I had hurt her feelings.

I mean, all I had to do was look through the Internet for one Brittany S. Pierce. With a click of a button and probably a credit card number, I'd find her not even 5 minutes.

Ha. You're a coward, Santana.

That was just an excuse I made for myself. I did _not_ need the Internet to find her for me. I already had her number; both Rent My Pussy, as well as her private number. It was so easy to pick up the phone and redial, or to just send her a really cute apology via text message to win her forgiveness and maybe a chance to meet. It wasn't like I had never done it before. In fact, I was kind of a pro at it. Just ask my mom. Or Quinn. Or the guy at the office whose head I kept hitting with my paperballs.

(In my defense, his Jewish cloud of a hairdo made it way too easy for those balls to get stuck.)

(Insert wanky joke here.)

But I just… I just didn't have the nerve.

"You know your phone can't read your mind, right?" a voice startled me.

"Huh?" I blinked. Then I turned to the left and one of my co-producers was standing in the doorway with one hand on the doorway. "What?"

"Your phone," he pointed to the device I'm holding in my hand. "You've been staring at it forever."

I furrowed my brows. "How long have you been standing there? Forever is a long time, you know?"

"So is ten minutes when you have a meeting with one of the biggest R&B voices out there," he shrugged.

Most of the time, Finn Hudson was just a big oaf of a guy who bumped into stuff when he was walking, and kicked chairs out of his way when he was angry. But damn, for such a clumsy ogre he had seriously impressive drumming skills that I couldn't help but admire.

When he was hired, his goofy smile and his nauseating kindness almost threw me off. Literally.

The record company was having a rooftop party, and I took Quinn with me. I introduced her to a lot of my coworkers and while we were talking right on the edge of the building, this clumsy dork accidentally bumped into me as he bent down to help Quinn pick up her phone from the ground. Apparently, Quinn was quite taken by his nerdy charm.

Luckily, being an ex-football player and a great drummer, his reflex was quick. He grabbed my arm right before I was thrown off the building. I gave him a good smack on the head after that.

I kept my distance from him and insisted to only communicate with him over the intercom for a good three months. I absolutely didn't want to have anything to do with him because he almost killed me — and if your name wasn't Alma Lopez (who was my father's mother and told me my name was Garbage Face when I was in kindergarten; and who trained me all my Lima Heights skills), then you're not allowed to touch me like that.

As I was saying, I tried to have limited contact with the guy for as long as I could, but then my boss told me, _"Santana, get your head out of your ass and go work with Hudson."_

To which I replied, _"I really don't want to, but I will — once you get your head out of that lifetime supply of gel you got from Costco and wear normal clothes like the rest of us. Newsflash: sweater vests are out. In fact, they haven't been in since Urkel reached puberty and his voice turned bass. Those ugly things should have their own plot at cemeteries."_

You see, I had a super great relationship with my boss. And by super great I mean he got to guide me with his knowledge, while I could make use of my musical intuition and be his fashion advisor on the side.

His mediocre fashion sense was hurting my eyes, I really wanted to succeed in the business, and I got to verbally abuse him on a daily basis without him firing me.

It was really a win-win situation.

(For me. I meant for me.)

At first, I was really apprehensive about sitting too close in the studio with Finn. I was constantly afraid that he might accidentally stab me in the eye with a pencil and stuff. However, once I got to listen to him butchering the drums like some octopus hybrid human, I practically begged the boss to let us always be in one producing team.

Which was why he was standing in my doorway in the first place, staring at me staring at my phone.

"Shit," my eyes widened. "It's today?! Where is she?"

"In the studio scribbling in her song writing book. I made her listen to some new beat mixes I made last night to stall while I look for you," Finn entered the room with both his hands in his pockets. He had learned to not touch anything when he was in my office. The day he moved a Fleetwood Mac record off my desk he went home with a big red handprint across his face.

"You don't look too well… Are you okay? I could just tell Mercedes you're tied with something or—"

I stood up from my chair and smoothened my shirt. "No. Don't do that. I'm good. Let's go."

Finn made little nods and turned around to exit the office. I did the same after taking a deep breath. Into work mode I go.

* * *

Midweek, I had to come to terms that Quinn still didn't want to have anything to do with me. I knew this because I spent another three days without seeing her in the apartment. Not even during the wee hours of the day when we both get up for breakfast. I only heard the apartment door opening and shutting late at night when she came home. Then I'd hear the second set of noises, which would be her bedroom door opening and closing. That's how I knew she was still keeping her distance for me. She definitely didn't want to stick around longer in our common area and breathe the same air as I did.

Usually, even though we were both very busy people, we would still spend some girl time in front of the TV, no matter how little time we had for it. Our fights could usually be ended with us binging on snacks and trash talking uber-plastic girls with fake tans looking for the right man to marry on TV. This time, even though I had left her voice and text messages, and slipped a note under her door to tell her I was sorry, she didn't give me any kind of response back.

It hurt me to think that maybe this time... she wasn't going to give me that second chance. And it scared the hell out of me.

* * *

"Girl," Mercedes rolled her eyes and huffed at me. This was our fourth session of the week and we were still at a dead end. Everybody involved was starting to get anxious. We had worked wonders for her first album that she was nominated for a Grammy, so everyone was hanging on to the sequel of our musical chemistry. Clearly, it wasn't happening for the second time.

"What I'm looking for, is a hit song that has some groove in it. Y'know, the kind of stuff that won't get people all suicidal? I needz me some beats, yo."

"You're exaggerating, 'Cedes," I rolled my eyes. "I've been giving you hits, and you know it. You just refuse to sing on them—"

"—because I don't want to be the reason why there's a sudden increase in Costco's caskett sales, that's why! Girl, what is up with you, anyway?"

I crossed my arms and turned my chair to look at the powerhouse. "What do you mean?"

"We've been working together since forever and I'd like to say I know you, Santana, and you haven't been yourself for a while now. It's like you're back to when you were dating that chick — who, by the way, still hasn't returned my shawl from when I had that house party. 'Accidentally grabbed it by mistake,' my butt. There was no way she could've mistaken it with her own. My mom gave it to me, Santana," Mercedes rested both her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Any chance you can talk to whatshername?"

I cringed and shook my head. There was no way I was going to talk to the jerk who just so happened to be my ex. "Nicole. Her name was Nicole. And no... I'd rather stay away from her as far as I could. You have people, Miss Grammy Nominee. Use them."

Mercedes clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll tell Big Rob to find her and maybe scare her a little," a pause. Then she sat down in her own chair in front of the sheet music. "Seriously, though. You've been down like a white sista with a black booty. What's up? It's not about her, right?"

"What? First of all, I don't think that analogy was correctly used. Second of all, my booty is damn fine and it's Latina. And thirdly, no! Totally not about Nicole. And on that account, tell Big Rob he can scare her _a lot_. She has a small phobia of bodyguards in black suits so he should take advantage of that. I don't even know what the fuck that's about. She told me she fainted in her seat watching Man In Black. I mean… seriously. The title was Man In Black. What the hell was she expecting? Guys wearing white tuxes?"

"I really don't understand why you went out with that chick. But anyway… Big Rob in black suit. Noted," Mercedes gave me a wink. "So... anything you wanna tell me about? There must be a reason why you've been giving me wrist-slitting melodies."

"Hey, those suicidal songs worked for Adele, okay? She's a Grammy _winning_ artist now," I pointed at her and Mercedes gave me a look that saw through my derailing efforts. So, in surrender I huffed. "Fine. Nothing to tell yet except for the fact that I'm a complete asshole."

"Well, that's not news," she deadpanned and I gave her a glare. Then she apologized. "Sorry. How bad is the situation?"

I sighed and replayed certain things that had happened in the last 3 weeks in my head. "I don't really wanna talk about it yet. I just... I just need time to think."

Mercedes pursed her lips in thought and gave me some little nods. "How about we cancel the next 3 sessions?"

"No, please don't. I can still work, I swear! I know I'm in a bit of a funk right now, but I promise you I'll be back in the game the next time we work together— no! I'm good right now! Please, I'm sorry," I pleaded. "Just give me a chance."

Mercedes chuckled at my rant and held both her hands up. "Whoa, just hear me up, girl. To be honest my weave's feelin' like it's about to untangle from all this songwriting. I've personally been working my ass off for the past two months and we're gonna still be working our booties until the album's done. You know how it is — we've went through it for my first album. And I don't wanna work with any other producers because you and I both know we're like musical soulsistas or something. So," she took a breath before she continued, "how about you take a break too and join me in a side project I'm doing? Come over to my house tomorrow night?"

"Come over to your house tomorrow night? This Friday night?"

"M-hmm," Mercedes smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you... coming on to me?"

"Hell to tha no," she pulled a face. I had to smile upon hearing that because Hell To The No was one of her hit singles which I happened to co-wrote. "You're all kinds of _caliente _and all that but honey, I don't swing that way. I got a hot piece of hunk waiting for me at home."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot that you're now dating my high school ex," I pursed my lips. "Funny how the universe work. I still can't believe how small this world is. Who knew Sam would end up dating one of the newest, biggest voices of music who just so happened to be his ex's client."

"Friend," Mercedes corrected me and smiled. "_Friend._ Not client."

I smiled back. That sounded really good, especially at that moment. "Thank you, 'Cedes. That means a lot."

"So... now that we've got that out of the way... what do you say?"

I looked at the ceiling and pulled my calendar out of my memory. It didn't seem like I had anything planned for the next three days. "Okay, we'll take that break. You have to fill me in about the project, though. I don't want to go in not knowing anything. One time I went to a blind date with some girl Quinn set me up with, and let me just tell you that I had the worst time."

"Oh, it's just an ASPCA type of project. You know, one of those animal PSA's with that Sarah McLachlan song that makes you wanna cry your eyes out and get a pet?" She checked with me and I confirmed with a nod that I knew what she was talking about. "Yeah, that one. So I'm gonna be meeting with a couple of people for that project. Tons of stuff to discuss and I think your perspective's gonna be a great addition to the group I already have."

"I see," I pursed my lips. I love but hate those commercials. Like, I couldn't stand looking at those sad eyes on my TV, but I could never look away either. Those little creatures are just too cute — and yet they all look so lonely.

"You know what? I'll think about it and get back to you on that."

"Good enough for me. So," she continued. "What happened during that blind date? She wasn't as hot as you wanted her to be?"

"Uh-uh," I shook my head. "She was super hot. But she was a freakin' skunk! I had to discreetly cover my nose the whole night!"

"Ew!" Mercedes scrunched her nose. "What the hell?"

"I know! I kept looking at my TaskRabbit app to see how fast they could deliver deodorants. To my luck, they apparently were not operating that day."

"So she texted me to bring Glade instead," Finn chimed in from the other room through the speaker. He could hear our conversation the entire time, but he was too busy arranging layers upon layers of sample tracks. To be honest, I almost forgot he was there with us.

Mercedes laughed like there was tomorrow. "You did not!"

"She did!" Finn replied. "I disguised myself like a waiter and sprayed their space repeatedly until it was time for her to go."

"Look, I didn't wanna be rude, especially cause she worked with Quinn. So I just held my breath, literally, and suck it up. But, ugh, that night I fell in love — with the breezy, fresh scent of linen," I closed my eyes and took a deep breath recalling the memory; pretending I was in a middle of a meadow filled with lines and lines of drying laundry.

Apparently my action made Mercedes laugh even harder that she started squealing from the lack of air.

It almost made me feel better.

* * *

To my surprise, Quinn was there in the living room when I came home that day. She was eating cereal, sitting on the couch watching a show about some writer and a female cop, and didn't even bother to look up when I shut the apartment door.

"You're home early," I stated.

I earned no response.

I realized that much like any other times in the past, our friendship was hanging on the thread whose loose end was currently lying in front of me, and I needed to pick it up. So I walked over to where she is and sat on the coffee table, right in front of her. At first Quinn was annoyed at my action, since I practically blocked the TV from her view — but then she gave up and turned to look at me. In silence, she put her cereal bowl down on the table and crossed her arms — obviously expecting me to say something.

So I did.

"Okay," I took a deep breath. "I need you to hit me," I told her.

A silent pause, then she furrowed her eyebrows. "Is this some kind of a weird come on? Like a fetish you now have?"

I stared at her and blinked my eyes. What?

"No, I… I need you to hit me because I was way out of line and that I shouldn't have said all those things I said to you and I'm sorry and I just need you to hit me really, really hard. But not on the face please because I happen to like my face."

Another short pause then Quinn lifted a hand.

I shut my eyes because I knew it was going to hurt. Like I said, she was a genius slapper. But before she did me any damage, I had to clarify something else to her. "Also please don't hit my boobs because I'm rather fond of the girls. Other people do, too, so…"

Then I waited and waited… But the five-fingered attack never came.

(Okay, wow… how wanky was that sentence? But yeah… not the time to have my mind in the gutter.)

I opened my eyes and saw Quinn looking at me rather amusedly with her left cheek resting on one hand. "You really are something, you know that?" she shook her head lightly.

"Yeah, something awful," I mumbled in shame. "Quinn. I'm really sorry I said all those things. You don't deserve getting Snixxed at all. I know you were just looking out for me and I'm so, _so _grateful for you. So please… just… hit me as hard as you want."

"No."

"But…" I scrunched my face in confusion. "Why? Aren't you mad at me?""

"Oh-ho, ho, ho… no, no. I'm very, _very _mad at you. I'm not gonna sugar coat it, Santana, what you said really hurt and you're a fucking bitch for using it against me," she told me sternly. I remained still because… well, what else could I do?

"Not only did you bring up the one thing you knew would mess up my head, but you also wished me to go through the same thing all over again. That was seriously a new low for you."

"I know," I gulped. "I'm really, _really_ sorry," I said in a whisper.

"But," Quinn sighed. "I would be a very bad friend if I had just walked away knowing that something bad enough happened to you while we were in Vegas — and let me tell you, I really did think about leaving for good these past few days. So… to replace the punch in the face that you clearly deserve… I'm going to let you repay me in another way."

I nodded my head up and down in a hurry. "Anything."

"You're going to make it up to me by telling me everything that happened in Vegas," she looked at me straight in the eyes. "And we are going to find a way to fix it."

I was convinced that if Quinn hadn't changed majors from Psychology to Law, she would've been a great shrink. Having said that, I would probably have hated that because she would most definitely charge me by the hour for when things like this happen.

Nevertheless, I told her everything, including a repeat of what I had told her in Vegas — with previously omitted information, of course. I told her in detail about how "I want to go swimming in Brittany's blue eyes," — and then she fell over from the couch laughing her ass off.

That bitch.

She told me I must've been falling hard because not even when I was with Nicole that I turned into Babyface.

Smart Santana kept her mouth shut and just gave her best friend a glare.

Success.

No further fallouts this time.

I must remember this strategy.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_Sorry this one is late. Been terribly busy :(_

_Also, Brittana very very soon!_

_(and thanks for all the reviews, faves and follows. Much love to you all!)_


	6. Chapter 6

I was dreading that meeting I was going to at Mercedes' humongous mansion. Even though I seemed like the people's person — the life, heart and soul of the party if I may say so — I really was not.

I mean, once the party got all raving, dancing, and sometimes off-puttingly twerking, I'd enjoy it like there's a tomorrow where everybody would be talking about me — which they usually do. However, in reality I was the kind of person who, when entering an unknown environment, would observe the whole scene and pick one person to have small talks with. I'd stick with them, and if I was lucky, they'd introduce me to their friends and I wouldn't look like such a loser throughout the night.

Not to say that I'd ever looked like a loser throughout a party, though.

Thanks to my cheerleading days, I'm not ashamed to admit that I got a pretty rockin' body that most people seemed to always want to get up on. So I guess that alone had been keeping me busy either a) swatting away greasy guys who couldn't take a hint that I enjoy lady parts as much as they do, or, b) holding conversations with deliciously beautiful women — even though I stopped doing the latter during and after Nicole. She'd get so angry whenever I talked to a fellow partygoer, even when it was just to ask them where the bathroom was.

(Little that I knew Nicole was just pretending to be the jealous girlfriend and that she was just doing that because I was her safety net.)

That, however, didn't mean I wasn't nervous when I pressed the intercom at Mercedes Jones' mansion gates. Even though it was only a small get together, there will also be several new people there. I begged Quinn to come with me, but she had this thing with her boss to attend. So there I was, collecting my nerves as I sat in my car, waiting patiently to be let in.

"Name, please?" the voice on the speaker asked.

"Lopez, Santana," I replied. Not even a second after that, the big iron gates of one of the hottest names in Top 40's residence moved open.

Mercedes was already waiting for me at the front door when I got out of my car. I smiled at her, secretly thanking her in my head because it meant I didn't have to go in alone just to be the center of attention. Unless I was up on a stage somewhere belting my heart out, I refuse to be eyed like a circus animal.

"Is everybody here?" I asked the vocal powerhouse and she shook her head.

"Let's see… Sam's here," she told me and I nodded. I already knew he was going to be there. Sam had always been the guy that would stick around for people he cared about.

Without me asking her to elaborate, Mercedes continued. She seemed to have sensed my need for further information. "My manager's here. My stylist, makeup artist, publicist… The director of this upcoming project… a couple of my best friends — you've met them already. Oh a lawyer is here to supervise. She's covering for my actual lawyer who couldn't make it tonight."

I stopped in my tracks right before we stepped into the room where everybody was busy mingling. "That sounded like a lot of people already. Who are you still waiting for?"

"A couple of representatives from this animal sanctuary we're collaborating with. They're had another meeting earlier, but they're on their way here. Now," Mercedes put one hand on the knob of her office door. "Ready?"

I nodded and forced my nerves to relax. "Bring it on."

As it turned out I didn't have to stand in a corner all night because I had met most of Mercedes' guests before. I guess 2 years of working together had its benefits.

And, to my surprise, there was another face in the room that I had known for most of my life. Quinn.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to be at Mercedes Jones' thing?" she asked me when we were alone in the kitchen. I noticed earlier the snack bowl in the living room was running out of edible stuff, so I volunteered myself to grab some more from the pantry. Of course I dragged Quinn with me so we could both take a break from the pages and pages of planning Mercedes had distributed before the brainstorming session.

"Why didn't _you_ tell me you were going to be at Mercedes Jones' thing?" I asked her back with a raised eyebrow.

She returned my gesture by raising her own eyebrow and, I gotta hand it to her, she did it best. It seemed like she owned major disagreement skills. First, genius slapper and now… genius eyebrow riser? I pouted.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop trying to be cute and cut that pout out. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was going to a gala with my boss, but then a colleague of mine asked me to cover for him. He had an emergency."

"What happened?"

Quinn shrugged. She took her time to answer as she poured herself a generous amount of wine into her glass. "His wife found out he's been cheating on her for months. He came home to all of his belongings lying on the driveway. Including his 55" TV that now has no screen. That oughta teach him. He can kiss Superbowl goodbye, that's for sure."

I snorted. "Fucker. I hate cheaters."

"Me too. I almost said no to him, but my boss overheard the conversation and practically shoved me out of his car to come here," Quinn huffed, then she lifted her glass for me to clink and winked. "But I guess being in the same room with my best friend beats a boring gala dinner with snobby pretentious lawyers."

"Mm," I smiled and gently bumped my wine glass with hers until they made a tiny noise. "I'll drink to that."

The night started with a little intro section. Everybody said their name and what their roles were for Mercedes' little project. It kinda reminded me to every single first days of school I had ever participated in. It was also funny because it looked like everybody was thinking the same and some of them ended up saying the most absurd things.

Okay, so I lied. The only absurd fish was Sam. He had a tendency to blurt out childish jokes when he was in front of an audience. For example, tonight he chose to introduce himself the same way he did in his first day of high school.

"Hi, my name is Sam and I don't like green eggs and ham."

Yeah, that. Somewhere deep inside I already knew he was going to say that, and I instantly cringed when he really did. I sighed. Really, I couldn't figure out what made me date him during high school.

Oh, right. He was my beard.

AND! He was my beard _knowingly _and _willingly_. I had to give it to him; he really was a sweet guy once you get past the ridiculous Dr. Seuss lines. Or the super lame Sean Connery impressions. Or his Avatar obsession.

Or his big lips.

How the hell did Mercedes and him make out, anyway? I mean, they both had rather… sizeable… pair of lips. I wondered if their definition of kisses was just… bumping into each other…

Hm.

"Santana!" I heard Mercedes' voice from the other room and it woke me up from weirdly inappropriate, awkward thoughts.

"Yeah?" I replied with an equally loud voice.

"Could you open the door, please? My other guests are here! Just tell them we're in the office!"

Opening the door. Sounds like an easy enough task. Anything to stall me from going back to those papers.

"Are you joining me, Q?" I turned to Quinn and saw her seriously reading Mercedes' video agenda with her big eyes opened super wide like she had just read something awful — or wonderful.

I couldn't really tell. For a lawyer whose job was to deliver a case in front of a trial — an audience — she really didn't have that many facial expressions.

I was about to check with her again when I heard the doorbell rang. So I left Quinn two steps behind me and headed towards the humongous front doors of Mercedes' mansion. I could hear Quinn whisper-yelling my name but I ended up ignoring her because right then my priority was to assist Mercedes being a good host.

The second when my left hand started to pull the door handle, Quinn caught my other one and still with her whisper yell (which was kinda getting annoying. I've always compared it to like a really big mosquito flying close to my ears) she pulled me back. "Wait, Santana!"

"What the fuck, Quinn?" I whisper-yelled to counter her attack and pulled my arm out of her hands.

She kept her hold strong, though. "There's something you need to know!"

But her words were drowned with a very familiar, very lovable voice coming from the other side of the door that was now ajar.

"Hi, we're Faunolog— Santana?!"

It was like time stopped.

Or maybe I was the one who stopped. Because when I finally managed to turn my head around, that person was already shaking hands with Quinn, then proceeded to show her friend and herself to the other room.

Yep. I definitely stopped.

Quinn quietly slid next to me when Brittany and . "Yeah," she whispered again and from the corner of my frozen eye I could tell she was nodding really slowly. "That was what I was going to tell you. Smooth, by the way, how you turned into a popsicle when she was asking to shake your hand."

That brought me to reality.

"What?! She did that?"

"She also introduced us to her colleague — her name was Sugar — and she totally hated your guts."

"Who, Brittany?"

"No, are you kidding me? Of course I meant Sugar. She was like, giving you a death glare from the minute Brittany said your name. Besides, I thought Brittany already hate your guts?," Quinn smirked at me and I gave a slap on her upper arm.

"It's not funny, Quinn! Help me!"

Quinn huffed. "Honestly, Santana, I don't know how to help you — yet. I didn't think we'd meet her this soon."

"Exactly!" I said to her. "I'm not ready to meet her!"

"Ugh, Santana," Quinn covered her face with a hand. "Look. Obviously tonight the universe is on your side by bringing forth Brittany right in front of you. Your desired objective, which is to extend an apology, should not be too big of a difficulty now. Lesbian up!"

I scoffed. "You sound like a fucking lawyer."

"Well, you sound like a song that's about not having enough change in your pockets to call someone through a payphone," Quinn crossed her arms.

"What?" I narrowed my eyes. "What does Maroon 5 has to do with this?"

Quinn shrugged. "I'm just saying, that song is ridiculous. Nobody uses payphones anymore and I'm pretty sure Adam Levine has more than enough money to sign up for a mobile account. If not that then I bet there are plenty of people who are willing to give him a measly quarter. It's like he was looking for excuses to _not _make that call! And you, my sweet, clueless, dense, foolish—"

"OK, I get it—"

"—best friend… are as ridiculous as that song. She's here, Santana. In the other room. Take advantage of that and quit being such a scared lesbian. I thought we've dealt with that during high school?"

With that, my best friend walked away with a freaking smug face to join Mercedes and her guests in the other room, leaving me to really think about what she had just pointed out.

I replayed her words over and over again, and when her Payphone analogy finally made sense in my head, I realized that she was right.

Ugh. Stupid lawyers and their stupid way with words.

I stayed quiet during the rest of the meeting because I was too busy keeping my really close distance with Brittany. You see, when I finally got the courage to get back into Mercedes' office, the only seat left was right next to my blonde object of affection — in a single oversized arm chair. I stood in a corner at first, but then Mercedes asked Brittany if she would mind sharing the chair with me.

Of course being a guest, Brittany didn't want to offend the host. So she agreed and scooted as much as she could scoot.

I politely refused Mercedes' suggestion, but she was the type of person who wouldn't take crap from anybody (and I had so much respect for her for that). She also convinced me by telling me that my participation was very much needed, as I was one of her trustee collaborator and friend. Now how could I have said no to that, right?

So I reluctantly walked over to the seat and offered Brittany a small smile she returned with one of her own. Then I tried making myself as small as possible. But, given the fact I wasn't orange and didn't work in a crazy man's candy factory, I couldn't prevent our thighs from brushing each other's. And maybe sometimes our arms brushed each other's too.

It wasn't that I didn't particularly enjoy the friction, because I did. I mean, I didn't feel any electric currents going through me, or like a jolt shocking my whole body, no. What I felt… was more like some kind of warmth.

I know what you're thinking. Freaking warmth was the only thing she felt?

Let me just explain.

It wasn't just some meaningless degree of temperature that I felt when Brittany's side brushed against mine. I felt the kind of warmth you get at camping trips when everybody was singing cheesy songs around the bonfire. I felt the kind of warmth that you get from a hot cocoa your mom makes for you every Christmas morning.

A special kind of warmth and I really had no idea why I was feeling it. All I knew was that Brittany was radiating that kind of warmth, and I really didn't mind if I could experience it for a long, long time.

As I was subtly staring at Brittany's sock covered toes (well, maybe not so subtly judging from Quinn's snickering face. What can I say? Her striped socks looked so cute!), Brittany's friend, Sugar (I wasn't really sure if that wasn't her stripper name) started asking questions to Mercedes' team and from the corner of my eye I watched Brittany pursed her lips to the hard questions.

Like, "Look. This is about Faunalogy. Not some sad shelter down the street. So why do you want to show the animals being all depressed like every Bon Iver song out there? Oh yeah. I'm awesome. I totally know all about the indie scene."

"Anyway," Sugar continued. "First of all, it's been done a million times, and yes, we all succumb to the Sarah McLachlan's version… but what's the point of making a video if we're not doing anything new? Might as well just forget the whole thing and stick one of your ballads onto it. Not that it would be up to par to Angel that is." Sugar closed her argument and I could hear gasps from Mercedes' team because nobody messed with Mercedes Jones. "Sorry, Aspergers."

"What Sugar meant to say," Brittany cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the way Sugar basically just slammed their clients. "Is that Faunalogy prefer to not use fear and pity when it comes to these animals. Why should we focus on the way they were mistreated? Why should we focus on the way they were abandoned—"

She took a deliberate pause and looked at me. Fuck.

(And fuck. Those blue eyes still had the same effect.)

"I think we should consider encouraging the audience," Brittany looked down to her hands like she was nervous. A new sight for me because all this time the only side of Brittany I had seen was the confident, suggestive, and super hot cat pimp.

"We should tell them what they can do — what they can _change. _Inspire them how much good it is for the animals their donations can do. I don't mind showing them a few comparisons, maybe some before and after photos. But let's focus on what happy animals look like and what they are capable of, instead of telling the audience to pity these animals."

Silence. I could even hear the clock tick.

I think everybody else in the room was thinking the same thing: that Brittany spoke the truth. We had been so caught up with remaking the campaign that we didn't even think about other ways to do it. At least, that was what I was thinking.

"If I may say something," one of Mercedes' best friends, Tina, spoke up. "I know you're speaking on behalf of the animals and Faunalogy because obviously you have an attachment. But Brittany, the old video worked. Do you know how much money it raised for ASPCA? In 2009 alone it raised 30 million dollars."

Tina was a Korean-American woman who used to go to the same middle school as the star. Since then, she had made a name for herself as a big shot publicist and she totally took Mercedes under her wing. I've had the chance to grab coffee with them both and I'd learned that Tina wasn't the best person to have this discussion with. It didn't mean that she was heartless and all about fame, no. I was just saying that she appreciated the value of money more than most people. She just needed to open her eyes a little bit.

…

No pun intended. I swear I'm not a racist.

"Um," I cleared my throat. "I actually agree with Brittany," I risked looking at the blonde next to see her reaction. She didn't have any.

Whatever. I needed her to see that what happened in Vegas was just me and my thirst for unnecessary drama, and that I still appreciate her very much.

I saw Quinn throwing me an encouraging smile and that was enough for me to continue. "Let's do a little bit of experiment, okay? Who here has experienced trouble sleeping at night?"

I took a moment to see if anybody raised their hands.

Of course, everybody did. Except for Sugar but I had a feeling she was just doing it because she hated me. Brittany must've had told her all about how evil Santana Lopez was.

"Okay," I nodded. "Now, everybody here has seen Sarah's version of the video, correct?"

Every head in the room bopped up and down nodding. This time, Sugar participated as well.

"Raise your hand if you've ever felt like your soul was yanked right of your body watching that commercial."

Hands were raised including mine. I counted 13, which was everybody.

"Now raise your hand if you've ever found yourself curling into a fetal position after watching the commercial," I told the room.

12.

Then I raised an eyebrow at Sam who ended up slowly raising his hand with a meek smile. I _knew_ he wouldn't have gone through the whole commercial without bawling his eyes out. He was too sensitive for his own good.

"Did you know that the average duration of a commercial is around 30 seconds? But that ASPCA one is 2 minutes long. Which is 3 times longer than the average. Which means they're forcing sadness unto you until you either cry yourself to death or get your credit cards out. So now… raise your hand if you've ever felt personally victimized by Sarah McLachlan."

13.

Success. Thank youuu Mean Girls.

"Brittany's right," I continued. "This is about creating awareness towards Faunalogy. Isn't it better to make people _want_ to donate to the cause because they know they're doing something right, not because they feel guilty about not doing anything for those animals? Isn't it better to show how much power they have in providing a better life for them?"

At this point I didn't realize that I was standing up. How very dramatic. But I'm Santana Lopez, I came from Lima Heights Adjacent, and I couldn't care less. "And yes, Tina," I looked at the woman square in the eye. "Thirty million dollars _is_ a big number. But I don't see why we can't reach the same amount. Double it, even. Guys, we're talking about Mercedes Jones here… the hottest voice of today's music world. She already has more fans than pre-puberty Bieber. Don't tell me you don't have faith in her."

I sat down, looked around the room and watched the different expressions in the room. Tina looked like she was about to kill me, but I knew she was just processing my words. I knew it was just a matter of seconds before she surrendered to the idea and the greatness of it. Meanwhile, Quinn had this proud look in her eyes — the kind of look she gave me when I gave my parents a big coming out speech during dinner many years ago. Mercedes, the star of the video and host of this gathering, looked like she was in deep thought. Undoubtedly weighing in her choices.

The other people in the room? Well… their opinions really didn't matter that much to me. For all I cared they could all break into a song right now and I wouldn't give a white rat's ass about it.

The director who had been silent all through the night suddenly spoke up. "Creatively, I agree with… Samantha?"

"Santana," I frowned. How dare he missed my name.

"Yes. Santana. I agree with Santana, and also Brittany. This could be our chance to really make something out of this simple project. I can already picture the commercial in my head."

"Well," Tina sighed. Then she spoke again, casting her glances around the room. "While I'd like to say I have the power to decide, ultimately I really don't. It all depends on Mercedes and Brittany because this is their project. Mercedes, because she's the talent and the official spokesperson. Whatever we decide would be linked to her face, her name and her music. And Brittany, because she's the originator of this idea, because she clearly has more knowledge in animals than any of us here—"

Yup. There's no doubt about it.

"—and because whatever we decide would be linked to her as the owner of Faunalogy."

Um.

Say what?

Shut the front door with a double bang on my tits!

My eyes widened at Tina's sentence. I never knew Brittany was the owner of Faunalogy. She must've been loaded and yet… she totally looked like the casual girl next door. And I knew I only spent like a few days talking to her, but not once it occurred to me that she could be the owner.

Well then. That explained why she declined my pussy payment. She really didn't need the money.

"Yeah, um," Brittany's voice got me out of my daze. I forgot she was that close to me. "Regardless of who the owner is, I'm standing by my opinion. And… thank you, Santana," she gave me small nod, a smile, and this time it was accompanied with a twinkle in her eye that I had missed so much. "Thanks for elaborating it better than I did."

* * *

"Damn, Miss Lopez… you really know how to take advantage of the situation," Quinn clinked her wine glass to mine for the second time that night and sipped the content. "My law firm should hire you."

I scrunched my eyebrows. "What? What are you talking about?"

Quinn chuckled. "I'm talking about how you totally won Brittany over, dummy! You were super fired up and like, 'Brittany is my princess and everything she says is true and oh yeah I love animals but I love Brittany more' blah, blah, blah."

"Quinn!" I hissed and slapped her on the arm. "Ssshh! Fuck you! Not so loud, goddamnit!"

Quinn just laughed it out. I think she had had just enough wine for the night. Good thing the brainstorming session is almost over and we can soon go home.

Apparently it didn't take much to convince Mercedes. As it turned out, Mercedes got her dalmation, Oreo, from Faunalogy. The dog was originally her co-star in one of her music videos, but she ended up falling in love with him that he begged Brittany to let her take him home. Mercedes told us that Brittany was hesitant at first, but then they got to talking and Brittany agreed that she and Oreo would shadow the singer for a week to see her busy schedule and lifestyle for themselves.

Then Brittany told the whole room that she didn't have to finish the week to see that Mercedes was a good fit for Oreo and vice versa. That they understood each other.

Several pairs of eyebrows went up because what Brittany had just said sounded… strange.

But I knew.

I knew that there was nothing unusual about it because Brittany could read people like how I was an expert at reading the calories on the back of a snack packaging.

Speaking of Brittany… I had to find her before I lost my chance — again.

"Yeah, yeah, you need to go," Quinn slurred and I steadied her upright by putting my hands on her arms.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

Quinn shook her head. "Nuh-uh. I'm the soberest of the sobers of the sober sobers."

I rolled my eyes and guided her to a chair. I took the wine goblet out of her hand and set it down on the kitchen counter.

"Listen to me Quinn," I put my hands on both her cheeks and squeezed. She looked like a fish and I'm pretty sure she was in a mild kind of pain, but at least this way she was looking at me. "I'm gonna go find Brittany real quick, say goodbye to everybody, and then I'll come back for you, okay? Don't go anywhere. Do I make myself clear?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes at me. "You're still a liiiiittle bit fuzzy on the edges but I can hear you loud and clear! Go get your Puss— _*hic!*_ —Pussy Pimp, Captain!"

And then she saluted me. She freaking saluted me. God, how much wine did she have tonight? Such a lightweight, this chick.

After making sure she had a glass of water in front of her, I left Quinn in search of Brittany. Everyone was sort of talking among themselves at this point. Tina, Mercedes, her makeup artist, her hair stylist, her manager and the director stayed in the office to discuss scheduling and the best look to achieve during the making of the video.

Then I walked passed the game room and saw that Sam, Sugar and Mercedes' best friends had moved there so they wouldn't interrupt the important discussion.

No Brittany though. And from their confused faces when I asked them, nobody knew where she went off.

So I gave my inner Colombo a thought… If I were Brittany, where would I be?

* * *

"Hey," I approached the blonde who was currently sitting on the floor, petting a tired and sleepy Oreo.

She looked up and her blue eyes struck me in awe again. "Hi," she offered me a small smile. The animosity I once saw in them was gone almost completely. Sure, there was still a little bit of reluctance going on there, but it only convinced me to go against the voices in my head — who were all telling me to run.

"I thought I'd find you here," I told her. She only replied with a hum and continued stroking Oreo behind his ear. "Mind if I sit?"

She looked up at me, then to the space next to her, then at me again. "Nope," she shrugged.

I made myself comfortable on the floor and mimicked Brittany's sitting position: Indian style with my back leaning against the wall of Mercedes' back porch.

"Thanks for helping me out back there," said Brittany once she saw my busy movements stilled. "That was a really good speech, by the way."

"Thanks," I smiled. "You can thank Tina Fey for that."

"Ah, yes," she nodded. "The gym scene in Mean Girls. I thought I recognized some of your words earlier."

"Yep," I pursed my lips.

Brittany echoed my response. "Yep."

We spent the next minute in complete silence. Might be not uncomfortable for her, but for me it was torture. I was so busy collecting my thoughts and racking my brain that she beat me to talking first.

"Tsk," she clicked her tongue. "You're so bad at apologies."

"I–" I stuttered. Then I took a deep breath that really helped calm my nerves. I finally said something. "I get that a lot."

"Oh, you do, don't you?" she nodded and raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Well… you wanna practice now in case you need to do it again in the future?"

I stared at her trying to figure out what she was saying before it hit me.

Oh.

"Yes, I… " I gulped. "Brittany, I'm so so very sorry. What I said to you was way out of line. It was just this ridiculous defense mechanism that I have. Please forgive me?"

Brittany sighed. "Do you know why I was angry at you?"

"Because I'm an asshole?" I cringed. This conversation was a total déjà vu to my conversation with Quinn the other day.

"Well, yeah. That too," Brittany chuckled and oh, how lovely was her laugh. Then she lifted one knee and rested her chin on it, without stopping her petting Oreo. "But mostly, I was angry because you assumed things about me. First of all, you assumed that I didn't know how it feels being abandoned and forgotten when, in fact, I do—"

"What do you mean—"

"Ssh, let me finish," she cut me off and I shut my mouth again. I realized instantly that it wasn't my place to ask her about anything yet. Not before she gave me her forgiveness.

"Second of all, you assumed that I was going to take advantage of you when I already said from the beginning," Brittany turned to face me, "that if your problems are too unbearable for you, or for Charity, to handle, then I wouldn't mind trying. Didn't I tell you that?"

"You did," I whispered lowly and looked down.

"So why did you doubt me?"

"I…" My fingers were already wrung and tangled among themselves. I must've looked like a 5-year-old that got caught stealing a cookie. "I don't know. I'm really sorry," I told her again.

Brittany sighed and I sensed that the conversation was going to grow heavier. As if on cue, Oreo suddenly stood up and walked away to his bed. Now it was just the two of us.

"Charity misses you," Brittany told me after a pregnant silence. "She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat… she kept wondering if she was the one who drove you away. Like, maybe she cuddled too quick to you and stuff… I kept telling her it wasn't her fault, but sometimes she just doesn't want to listen."

Brittany trailed off and when I looked up, I saw a weak tint of pink on her cheeks. She tried to act nonchalant by looking away, but without Oreo's presence, she was just staring Mercedes dark backyard.

Right then, I understood what Brittany was saying.

"You're right to tell her that it wasn't her at all. She didn't do anything wrong and I will keep apologizing until she forgives me. I've missed her tremendously," a pause. Then I decided to tell Brittany the truth without hiding behind a cat's name. "And I, uh… I've missed you too, Britt."

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Gawd. I'm so sorry for the delay. I have really poor time management! Thanks for all the reviews, faves and follows, everyone! I promise I'll get back to replying your comments when I get out of this deadline cycle!_

_Next chapter: More Brittana. Stay tuned!_

_Oh, and also, Squeeeeeee, Brittana on my TV again! March, come quick!_


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